


Between the Wars

by HippogriffFeatherCore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Friends, Dealthy Hallows Era, Drama, Drama/Romance, Enemies and Lovers, Established Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Flashbacks, Forbidden Romance, Friends to Lovers, HEA, Non-Explicit Sex, Original Character(s), Pining, Post War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Potion abuse, Protective Draco, Redeemed Draco, Slow Burn, angst with happy ending, eight year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 84,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25269526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HippogriffFeatherCore/pseuds/HippogriffFeatherCore
Summary: Hermione Granger met Draco Malfoy on the Hogwart's Express seven years ago while she was looking for Neville's toad. Under the impression she must be a pureblood given her haughty attitude, Draco was thoroughly intrigued by her and Hermione with him as well. Thus the pair developed an unlikely friendship and kept their relationship hidden with frequent meet ups atop of the Astronomy Tower after hours.For seven years everyone at Hogwarts thought they hated each other, yet behind closed doors romance was budding. Now on opposite sides of the war Draco helped orchestrate, can the pair find their way back to each other and give their love a chance? Or will the dangers they face push them further apart?*Deathly Hallows era/Slight AU/Slow-burn Dramione*Alternative POV
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 75





	1. A Dark Cloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape and Narcissa discuss a long-hidden secret, Lucius returns home just in time for an important Death Eater meeting, and Draco tries not to think of Hermione when surrounded by enemies.

ACT 1: THE HUNT

* * *

_Fingers stretching out from nowhere_

_Reaching for my throat they’re hungry for my skin_

* * *

> _July_
> 
> Out the large, panelled window, he could see the swirling black fumes of smoke against the already dreary evening sky. The other Death Eaters were quickly approaching and he would be called away to meet with them any moment.
> 
> He didn’t bother to charm the candles to illuminate the dark library, preferring only the pale glow of moonlight. In his childhood, this room had been his favourite hideaway. The place his mother would read to him as a young boy. He would listen intently with wide eyes to old tales of magic, mystery and adventure. With its many books and the musk smell of parchment, it also reminded him of a certain bookworm he’d fallen in love with when he was only thirteen. 
> 
> In this quiet corner of Malfoy Manor with nothing but books to keep him company, it made him feel closer to her when they were worlds apart. He could imagine her critiquing their collection, plucking one from the floor-to-ceiling shelves and reading through it with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. He imagined her asking about the ones she hadn’t yet read and growing frustrated with him when his brusque review wasn’t good enough for her ever curious mind. Draco smiled sadly at the thought. He missed her -more than he thought he ever would. Her bright eyes, her laugh, her voice, her wit, her bossy nature. Everything about her. Her absence was like losing a limb. He could live through it -just about- but every passing day he was painfully aware of what he’d lost. A phantom pain wrapped around him. He told himself it was for the better. The further away from him she was the less danger she would be in. It didn’t make it any easier though. 
> 
> He sank into his favourite armchair with a heavy sigh and pulled the piece of parchment from his pocket. Draco ran his thumb along the no-nonsense cursive ink. It was the last note she had given him. One she’d tossed to him in class one day last year, when he’d been looking particularly gloomy. He unfolded the note and re-read it for what must have been over the hundredth time. 
> 
> _Whatever it is that’s troubling you, you can talk to me. We can figure it out. Together._
> 
> _We’re not enemies, Draco._
> 
> _No matter what happens. No matter what you think. No matter what anyone else thinks. I’ll always be here._
> 
> There was no signature, no indication of who had written it. Only her handwriting gave it away. That’s why he’d decided to keep it, because no-one but him would know who it was from or what it meant. It was his last remaining piece of her. How odd that what she had written all that time ago was more relevant to him now than ever. _But you’re not, are you?_ He thought sadly, re-reading her words once more. _You can’t be. You can never be near me again._ He hoped now she knew what he’d become she’d think of him as him as her enemy. A threat. Because that’s exactly what he was. 
> 
> The once exuberant and opulent room felt cold and empty now. No amount of expensive, antique furniture could fill it enough to make it feel like home. Not the many family portraits or the gilded mirror, not the chandelier nor the magnificent marble fireplace. With the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters using the Manor as their headquarters, there was not one room left that didn’t have an icy chill in the air or make him feel like an outsider. The Manor was a house to him now and nothing more. Grey stone walls and iron-gated grounds that kept him prisoner. 
> 
> After tucking the note back into his pocket, Draco lifted the newspaper from where it had been discarded by the previous occupant on the black-and-gold coffee table opposite him. On the front page was the title; _Harry Potter at Large: Wanted for the Murder of Albus Dumbledore._ The belief was now widespread that Potter was an escaped murderer and it was the Ministry’s job to find him before he could harm anyone else. It was a clever ploy conjured up by Death Eaters who had infiltrated the government. Bit by bit, more lies were being reported, more muggle-killings covered up, until all that was left was propaganda. Below the picture of the dark-haired wizard with glasses, was a smaller picture, to the bottom left, of a pretty young witch with unruly hair. The picture was taken from the night of Dumbledore’s death. It was the last known photo of her, taken by reporters as they clamoured around the murdered wizard. The title was quite plain; _Missing Muggle-Born._ But the implication was much darker. It had a foul undertone of catch-and-kill. 
> 
> “We are in perilous times, Narcissa. We would do well to remember our roles. If not because of Lucius’ feeble state of mind, then because of the presence of the Dark Lord himself.” He could hear Snape’s voice in the other room.
> 
> The walls of the Manor were by no means thin, which only meant the pair were arguing and talking too loud as a result. Did they not realise how easily information was passed around this place? Only fools would talk as openly as they were. Even in hushed tones, Draco would be wary. There was no telling who could be listening.
> 
> His mother and godfather had grown closer since Lucius had been locked away and Draco was worried their trust in each other would be their downfall. If they got too comfortable, they were bound to reveal themselves for what they truly were; liars. Their loyalties didn’t lie with Lord Voldemort anymore than his own did. 
> 
> “Severus, please!” His mother sounded pained, “I’m aware things can never go back to how they were, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make a plan together. There _are_ ways.” 
> 
> “And when Lucius learns the truth of the matter? Do you think he’ll be pleased? No. He’ll be furious to know what we’ve done.”
> 
> Careful not to make a sound, Draco got to his feet and, newspaper tucked under his arm, made his way towards the wall to listen better. He was prone to eavesdropping at the best of times, and over the years he’d become quite talented at masking his movements so as not to alert those around him,
> 
> “What of Draco? He needs you. He needs guidance!” Narcissa pleaded, “Lucius doesn’t understand him.” 
> 
> “That is none of my concern.” 
> 
> Draco sneered at that, hurt by the man’s words. _What a load of drivel!_ He thought bitterly. Given that he was his godfather and he’d taken the Unbreakable Vow for him twice over, the Slytherin was very much his concern in many ways. Regardless of what the miserable old rotter thought. 
> 
> “If Lucius returns and things carry on as they were he’ll…” his mother’s voice trailed off, “Ah, Bella, you’re back. How was it?”
> 
> The blonde Slytherin moved back from the wall as quietly as he could and went to stand by the fireplace. He could fool Narcissa and Snape easily enough, but Bellatrix was equal parts clever and cruel. He’d been at her mercy once, he didn’t want to have to go through it again. The less he angered her or brought attention to himself in her presence the better. With a flick of his wand, he burnt the newspaper to ashes, risking one last glance at the picture of the muggle-born witch in all her beauty before she burnt away. 
> 
> “Ha! Fools didn’t know what hit them. Rats have more fight in them than that lot.” Bellatrix cackled from outside, “Well, you’ll be happy to know your dear Lucius is returned to you.” 
> 
> At that, Draco walked briskly to open the library door and met the others in the grand hallway. When Narcissa and Snape noticed him their eyes went wide, taken aback by his abrupt appearance. Aunt Bella’s eyes, however, narrowed. He could practically see the cogs of her mind turning, thinking he’d been up to no good. 
> 
> “Oh, Draco, my darling, I didn’t realise you were there.” His mother exclaimed, “I thought you were in the gardens.”
> 
> “I was. Then I came here. For a bit of light reading.” 
> 
> “Reading what exactly?” Bella asked, “You’ve no book in your hand. Or can you read any one of them without touching them now?” 
> 
> Draco grit his teeth, wanting nothing more than to throw his aunt a dirty look. Of course, he didn’t though. He knew better than to prod a beast like her. While his aunt had once been vigilant about protecting him -teaching him Dark Arts and taking him under her wing last year- she was now vehemently against him. His failure to carry out Lord Voldemort’s task made her question his every move and every motive. Her wild eyes watched him like a hawk these days, waiting for him to give himself away. In her eyes, his failure either made him weak or it made him the enemy. Both of which she would happily kill for, 
> 
> “ _Dark Arts Most Foul._ ” He lied, having seen the book on the shelf once and thumbed through it absentmindedly, “Decent enough read. Bit long.” 
> 
> Bellatrix raised her brows and pulled a face that told him she didn’t believe him. He expected her to press him more on it, to try to pry the lie out of him, but she didn’t. It was then that he noticed Lucius talking to Snape, clasping the old Potions professor's hand in his. 
> 
> “Thank you, old friend. For everything you’ve done. For us. For Draco.” 
> 
> “I recall many times when you helped me, Lucius. I am more than obliged to return that favour whenever I can.” Snape said, “But I’m afraid our reunion must, for now, come to an end. I have matters to attend to regarding the boy. My eyes and ears within the Order have told me they have new information. I’m certain it will be most prevalent to the cause and most important to the Dark Lord.”
> 
> “Of course, of course.” Lucius replied, giving his arm a friendly pat and letting him go. 
> 
> Snape gave a slight bow as a goodbye to Narcissa, Bella and Draco and then Disapparated. Only then, did Lucius’ eyes fall on the blonde haired boy. A gasp escaped the older Malfoy. 
> 
> The once perfectly polished patriarch of the Malfoy family looked like a ghost of his former self. Gaunt, and dressed in the black-and-white-striped Azkaban uniform, he looked frail and older than his forty-three years. His usually smooth white-blonde hair was damp with sweat from his escape, and he was no longer clean shaven but had a beard that only made him appear more weary. All arrogance was gone from his features. Despite their differences and turbulent relationship, Draco wanted to weep at the sight of him. Although he was obviously troubled, Lucius’ face broke into a smile upon seeing his son again. He opened his arms out wide as he crossed the hall towards him, embracing the young Slytherin. His father sobbed into his shoulder and the younger Malfoy rubbed his back to calm him. This wasn’t the place for this kind of exchange. Under no circumstances was it a good idea to let their guard down here. Yet that’s exactly what they were doing. When they pulled apart to look at each other for the first time in more than a year. Draco gave the tightest of smiles, aware his aunt was watching them while Lucius’ expression was overjoyed and full of love. Maybe now the older Malfoy had learned his lesson. Maybe the worst of times could pull them together and make them better than they were before. 
> 
> “Father.” Draco greeted him with a nod, 
> 
> “Draco, my dear boy! How are you? Are you well? I trust you’ve been looking after your mother?” 
> 
> “I am. I have.” The young Slytherin replied, eager for his father’s approval. Lucius clapped his hand to the boy’s shoulder with pride, 
> 
> “Very good. And the Dark Lord? How has he been with you? Your mother tells me things were difficult after…” he didn’t need to continue, they all knew what he meant. 
> 
> Draco risked a glance at his aunt, 
> 
> “No more than I deserved.” 
> 
> Lucius visibly relaxed, believing the lie. Bella grinned at him. His parents knew he’d been punished but Bella had been murky with the details on how. They’d find out eventually. Perhaps Narcissa already had. But now was not the time for Lucius to learn the truth, 
> 
> “Much less than you deserve if you ask me! Allowing that wretched viper to take your glory. It’s _pathetic_.”
> 
> “Bella!” Narcissa hissed, furious.
> 
> “He is just a boy.” Lucius defended him, “And anyway did he not fix the cabinet?! Did he not let Death Eaters into that awful school? Did he not corner Albus Dumbledore?”
> 
> “You’re right.” Her voice was sickly sweet, like poisoned honey, “He was very promising at the beginning. What wasted potential! Very disappointing indeed. Did I ever tell you how utterly alike you are?” 
> 
> Lucius glared darkly at her, a thought passed over his features. A retort no doubt. Though whatever his reply would have been, he didn’t grace her with it. 
> 
> “All will be well now your father has returned.” Narcissa said, her eyes on Draco as she tried to ease the tension, “We’ll win favour again. We’ll make the Dark Lord proud.” 
> 
> Draco managed a shaky nod, wanting desperately to believe her, but not quite able to, 
> 
> “All _is_ well, Cissy! The Dark Lord is here in _our_ home. It’s an honour!” Bellatrix paced the length of the hall, waving her wand around like she was dying to curse something, “While you may need to prove yourselves to our master now, don’t you dare act like this isn’t the greatest gift bestowed upon you.”
> 
> Narcissa sucked in a breath,
> 
> “Bella, we _are_ honoured. Our home is the Dark Lord’s home for as long as he wants it. I only mean, we’ll be a family again. We are better when we’re all here. Together.” 
> 
> “ _I’m_ family!” she pointed to herself with her wand, her mouth pulled into a pout, “Or have you forgotten?! You and Lucius are bound by marriage, but _we_ are bound by blood. That makes me more family than him. And anyway we are already better. We already have all we need. With or without your husband!” 
> 
> Bellatrix blew a wayward curl from in front of her face and folded her arms across her chest defensively. The motion made her look like a petulant child. Draco and Lucius watched the two women argue. Eventually, after enough harsh words were exchanged, Bella left the room in a huff. Draco felt himself relax the moment her figure disappeared from view, the tension easing from his tired muscles. Only then did his mother make her way over to him to place a kiss on his forehead. Only then did Lucius embrace them both, 
> 
> “Things are not as they once were.” Narcissa whispered as she pulled away, “We must take care of each other. We must not anger the Dark Lord.” Her eyes found Draco then, “Whatever his demand, we must comply. Do you understand?” 
> 
> “I understand.”
> 
> “Good. Now go. Meet the others in the dining room. Your father and I have things to discuss.” 
> 
> He did as he was commanded, hurrying along to the dining room where he found the others. The room was dark, with only the roaring fire providing any light at all. At the table were the familiar faces of the Death Eaters he’d come to know too well; Corban Yaxley, Thorfinn Rowle, Antonin Dolohov, Amycus and Alecto Carrow, Pieter Goyle, Dominic Nott, Ramsey Crabbe, Arlo Bancroft, Luella Moonwraith, Evan Rosier and many, many others. He took his place by the fire, beside where his father always sat and opposite his aunt. He said nothing to the others as he sat down, but listened to their conversations, keen to gather what information he could. There was nothing of great importance in their idle chatter, only talk of ‘mudbloods’ and blood-traitors, and how much better the world would be without them. They laughed as they recounted tales of what they’d done to the ones they had already found, the horrendous ways they had tortured and killed. Draco kept his face wooden throughout, but underneath the facade he was grappling with the images that flooded his mind of what would happen if they got their hands on _her._ The thought alone was enough to make him quiver. Twenty minutes passed and more Death Eaters arrived, his parents among them. They took their places at the table, Narcissa beside Lucius and Lucius in the middle, between him and his mother. His father was now dressed in a black suit and white shirt. He had a goblet in his hand and took quick, large mouthfuls, knocking back the liquor as if it could give him courage. 
> 
> Moments later the Dark Lord entered, with Nagini to his right and Pettigrew at his left. 
> 
> “Welcome dear friends,” he said as he opened his arms out wide to greet them, Pettigrew pulled out the chair at the head of the long table for him, and Lord Voldemort sat down with Nagini coiling in his lap, “we are gathered here this evening because we have an infestation in the wizarding world. This vermin we call _muggles_ and our fellow witches and wizards whom they infect with their repugnant disease -creating, as you well know, mudbloods and half-bloods. I have brought with me tonight a guest, who despite being a pure-blood herself, has allowed this plague to take hold.” 
> 
> Lord Voldemort sneered, as a woman, who was lying face down and unconscious, levitated into the room, controlled by their master’s wand. 
> 
> The woman was brought to a halt with a flick of the Dark Lord’s hand, hovering above the centre of the table. With a turn of his wrist, she turned as well, onto her back. Her long, dirty-blonde hair fell away from her face, revealing her identity. Draco grimaced at the sight of the old Hogwarts professor. He didn’t know her all that well as he’d never bothered with her classes, thinking them ridiculous at the time. What would _he_ need with Muggle Studies anyway? Nonetheless, he felt for the poor woman. They all knew what her fate would be tonight. 
> 
> “For tonight’s entertainment,” the Dark Lord addressed his followers once again, “I offer you a challenge of mind and body; I will ask questions and you may answer freely. If you are correct, you demonstrate your knowledge and devotion,” he smiled deviously at them as he stroked his snake, “as a reward you, my most loyal companions, will have your chance to punish our guest for her deplorable beliefs. Get it wrong and it is you who will be punished.”
> 
> There was a chuckle down the lower half of the table from Bancroft and Yaxley, while Bellatrix let out an excited gasp and clapped her hands together. Draco recoiled further into his seat, as if by doing so he might disappear. 
> 
> “Now who can tell me why muggles are so dangerous to wizarding kind?”
> 
> Others opened their mouths to answer, but of course Bella was too quick,
> 
> “Because they’ll drive us into hiding, my lord. They loathe magic and want to rip it from the world! Foul creatures!” 
> 
> The Dark Lord smiled, 
> 
> “Excellent, Bella. Ten points!” He said, mockingly reminiscent of Dumbledore, and gestured from her towards Professor Burbage. 
> 
> Bellatrix didn’t need to be told twice and trained her wand at the poor woman, 
> 
> “ _Crucio_!” 
> 
> The woman, who was already under multiple curses, couldn’t move but let out a cry of pain, her eyes filled with tears as they shut tight. The witch didn’t relent, drawing as much agony out of her turn as she could. It went on like this for a long time. Questions would be asked and answered and each time a member of the table would pull out their wands to torture the professor floating above them. Many used the Cruciatus Curse, others used the _Sectumsempra_ that Potter had used on him, a few used the Bone-Breaker Curse to break her fingers and legs. Though there was no movement because she was already in a Full-Body Bind, Draco recognised the incantation followed by the _cracking_ of bones. Each time Professor Burbage screamed and sobbed, weakly begging for it to end, pleading with them to let her go and each time the room erupted into laughter. Draco felt sick watching it all. 
> 
> “Marvellous! Marvellous!” The Dark Lord chuckled, “Now what next? Ah! Who can tell me the dangers of mating with muggles and mudbloods?” 
> 
> “It’s an abomination, my lord!” Lucius said quickly, to which Voldemort sneered in reply. 
> 
> The Dark Lord got to his feet and made his way over to the Malfoys, he trailed his fingers along the back of Narcissa’s neck. Although clearly afraid, his mother held her head high and kept her composure. Then he move his taloned finger to Lucius who trembled at his touch, 
> 
> “Now, now, Lucius,” he said, moving on to Draco, where he placed his hand on the back of his neck and gripped the boy harder than necessary, “we must let Draco have a turn. Your boy hasn’t answered one yet.” 
> 
> Lucius gulped and nodded once, his eyes met Draco’s and the young Slytherin knew he was trying to convey a message, but in his fear and muddled thoughts he couldn’t figure out what it was. He cursed his father for his foolishness. All he wanted was to get through one night without drawing attention to himself. Yet the more he tried to hide away, the more his family wanted to be in the spotlight. He thought about the question; what _were_ the dangers? Years ago he would have been able to answer easily. That was before. Before he met her, before he fell in love with her, before he fantasised about having her on top of him, naked and her cheeks flushed from their lovemaking. Now he didn’t believe there _was_ a danger. Now he didn’t believe there was even a difference between purebloods like himself and muggle-borns like her. 
> 
> “There’s many reasons.” Draco replied, trying to muster as much venom as he could, trying to conjure his old hatred, “They’re maggots for one. No-one wants to mate with lowly filth like that.” He tried not to think of her as he spoke, tried not to imagine her pretty face twisted with hurt, her brown eyes muddy with tears, her pain at the things he was saying. He carried on as if he was still in a classroom, “Then there’s the fact we don’t know how _mudbloods-_ ” he tried to snarl the word but his voice cracked, “-get their magic. What dirty tricks they used. They clearly have abilities we don’t know of -ones that could be used against us. Finally with enough breeding their disease will infect us all. We’ll grow weak -like sick puppies- and our magic will die out.” 
> 
> The Dark Lord laughed, pressing his long, razor-sharp fingernails into the boy’s neck for a moment before pulling his hand away and giving him a slow, vaguely contemptuous, applause, 
> 
> “Very well done, Draco. Very well done, indeed. Ten points for our youngest recruit.” He bent down until his chin was almost resting on Draco’s shoulder and his face was less than an inch away, then he whispered, “Now, boy, claim your prize.” 
> 
> Draco closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, steadying himself for what he was about to do next. He knew he had now choice in the matter. Without a word, he raised his wand and mumbled the incantation. Professor Burnage let out another agonised scream as the pain rippled through her. He held the curse only until Lord Voldemort was pleased enough to pat his cheek in ridicule. The moment the Dark Lord moved away and took his seat at the head of the table once again, was the moment Draco dropped his wand. 
> 
> This, he realised, was what it meant to be a Death Eater. It was nothing like his younger self had imagined. This was not glamorous nor thrilling. He didn’t feel powerful. He didn’t feel proud. He felt like a monster. 
> 
> Out of the corner of his eye, Draco watched another figure enter the room and come to a halt when he saw the woman hanging in the air, too weak to cry out. He wondered what his mentor would make of his former colleague and friend being tortured for their amusement. 
> 
> “Severus,” Voldemort said, turning to face the man behind him with a wry smile, “we were beginning to think you’d lost your way. Come. We saved you a seat.” 


	2. The Girl in the Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione goes lurking through one of the many bedrooms of 12 Grimmauld Place and later has an unsettling dream about the blonde Slytherin. Ron is suspicious about a potion she's using to help her cope with the troubling events unfolding before them.

* * *

_I wanna look past it cause you're such a habit_

_But I'm made out of glass and some wounds you just can't lick_

* * *

Her delicate fingers pulled anxiously at the thin, silver chain around her neck. At the end of the necklace, she’d fastened the brooch he had given her five months ago. The black sapphire gem, which was of course enchanted, sang a low, snakelike hiss whenever trouble was near. As if the stone itself could sense the intentions of another. Loud enough that she could hear, and yet quiet enough not to alert anyone else. 

Hermione took a small comfort in the knowledge that right now the gem was silent. Though they weren’t in the clear yet. 

The two boys followed her down one busy street after another, and through dark alleyways, until they found themselves outside the familiar gates. With all the other safehouses compromised, there was only one place for them left to go. Hermione stared up at the dark brick building as the foundations began to move outwards, folding out on themselves and opening up like a kind of puzzle to reveal 12 Grimmauld Place. The former home of the Black family and, more recently, the secret meeting place of the Order. 

“Do you think they followed us here?” Ron asked, sweat on his forehead from their escape,

“If they have they’re not on our tails just yet anyway.” Harry replied, nodding towards Hermione’s necklace. 

She couldn’t discern what spell Draco had cast over it; she only knew it was incredibly powerful magic. Hermione had encountered more than her fair share of Death Eaters since leaving Hogwarts. The brooch had not only alerted her to their presence, but reflected most -though not all- spells cast at her and also hastened her healing from any wounds she’d landed herself in the process. It was quite incredible what he’d managed to do. He hadn’t learnt this in any of their classes, and it wasn’t dark magic either, but rather Auror level magic. The realisation had come to her some weeks ago that Draco must have studied this particular type of magic tirelessly to learn the charms and use them as effectively as he had. 

When had he made this for her? The thought had crossed her mind many times. Was it before he fired snide remarks at her upon his return for sixth year, or after? Did he know he was going to give this to her the moment he’d been given the Dark Mark? Or was it later in the school year? When he’d realised just how out of his depth he was. Either way, Draco knew they would soon be in danger and he wanted to protect her from afar. _Never ever take it off._ His words echoed in her mind. A brief and almost tangible whisper. As if he were a ghost with her right now, breathing the words into her ear. 

It made sense now. In fact, a lot of things Draco had done or said always made more sense to her in retrospect. His most awful actions were almost always the effect of either intense jealousy or fear. She sighed, wondering where he was now. If he was still at Malfoy Manor with his parents and the Dark Lord, or on some vile killing spree of muggles and muggle-borns with Voldemort’s closest followers. It sent a shiver down her spine to think he could be capable of what the newspapers said. She pictured him towering over some poor muggle-born or Order member, wand pointed at them, his pale, beautiful face pulled into an ugly sneer, making him look nastier than he was. She imagined him using the Cruciatus Curse and the victim writhing on the floor in agony. 

_Enough!_

Hermione scolded herself silently and shook the thought away.

“Right.” Ron sighed, more relaxed now, “Handy thing that. Who knew Ma-”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence for the two friends to know what he was going to say. _Who knew Malfoy had it in him?_ Or maybe: _Who knew Malfoy could be helpful?_ Hermione’s frown deepened at the mention of the boy’s name. 

“Let’s go.” She said, pushing open the gate and trudging up to the steps towards the black front door. Harry and Ron quickly followed behind. 

The thought of being back here filled her with dread. It was here she and Harry had spent the summer before fifth year, playing chess and comforting each other over Cedric’s death. It was here they had spent the mornings drinking tea and eating fruit scones with Sirius as they discussed what to do about Voldemort’s return. It was here that the walls were covered in portraits of the Black family and those they’d married into. Dark, gloomy oil paintings of pureblood witches and wizards who sneered at her as she walked passed. Here, where Draco’s mother, Narcissa, had once lived. She held back a groan as they stepped through the entrance. There was _always_ something to remind her of the past. 

As soon as they entered the long corridor that led to the many vast, once-elegant-but-now-neglected rooms, there was a swirling cloud of grey smoke in the middle of the hallway. Hermione stumbled backwards. Were there more Death Eaters here? If so, how were they tracking them? Then, suddenly, without warning, a ghostlike visage of their late headmaster hurled at them, screaming. He vanished into the air before he could collide with them. Not a threat, she realised, but a warning. A scare tactic for unwanted visitors. 

“What the bloody hell was that all about?” Ron gulped, 

“Probably Mad Eye’s idea. In case Snape decided to come snooping.” She lowered her wand, unaware she had even pulled it out, “We’re alone.” 

They made their way cautiously down the hall to the lounge, their wands out and ready just in case. Thankfully the portraits were sleeping. Hermione didn’t think she could deal with their rude comments this evening. Not after what had just happened at the wedding. Not after being chased and attacked in the cafe. The lounge looked the same as it did when they left it a few months ago, before the Order went down. The walls were as dark as the furniture. With only hints of green, blue or gold in the large rug and twin chesterfield sofas. There was a large silver mirror above the ebony fireplace and a grand piano that had seen better days in the corner of the room. Before they entered, Hermione charmed the heavy velvet curtains closed to ensure no-one could catch them through the windows. Then, without a word, she charmed the lights as well. 

“We should probably all stay together tonight.” Harry said, his back against the wall as he pulled back the curtain the tiniest bit to peer out the window and to the street below, “Just in case. We can take the rooms when we know it’s safe.”

“One of us will need to keep watch as well.” Hermione replied as she hugged herself,

“I’ll do it.” Harry didn’t turn to look at her when he answered, 

“I don’t mind taking the first one, Harry. It won’t make much difference to me. You know I haven’t been sleeping well.” 

“Exactly. All the more reason for you to get some rest.” 

“Bloody hell, what're we gonna do?!” Ron exclaimed behind them, rubbing his face with his hands in frustration, “We left Mum, Dad, Bill, Fred…all of them!”

The auburn-haired lad sank down to the sofa, his hands trembling. His face was paler than usual, his eyes too wide and she could tell he was panicking. Hermione plopped herself down beside him and pulled a tiny vial out of her bag which she handed to him, 

“Draught of Peace.” She explained, “I’ve been using it every now and then. Keeps me calm. Helps me to think clearly in times of adversity.” 

Harry raised his brows at that, but didn’t question it. Ron lifted the vial to his mouth and downed it. Not long after the glass touched his lips, the boy visibly relaxed. His frown less prominent, his muscles less tense, his breath more even. As if a cloud of tranquility had passed over him. 

“Better?” Hermione asked,

“Yeah. Blimey. Wouldn’t expect you to be taking potions like that, mind.” 

“Normally I’d be completely against it, but…” she trailed off, thinking about everything that had happened in recent months and utterly terrified she was most of the time, “Well, things are different this year.” 

Ron nodded. Now convinced there was no-one outside watching them, Harry sat down on the dark green leather armchair by the window, his elbows on his knees and his hands cupped together in thought. He had a pensive and pained look on his face, and she knew he was replaying the night's events, thinking about the people they had left behind. Ron, though now much calmer than he was before, hung his head and gazed at his feet. She couldn’t see his expression but she could hear him sniffling and she knew he was crying or holding back tears at least. Hermione sat upright, tensed, waiting for something else to happen, as she fiddled with the sleeves of her midnight-blue cardigan. She wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, in complete silence. It was long enough that her back started to cramp and she realised for the first time that night her legs ached from their escape. They had bolted it through half of London and now all she wanted to do was lie down and rest. 

“Alright.” She said as she stood, “I’m going to find some blankets. It’s freezing in here.” 

“I’ll go with you.” Ron mumbled, “Take a look around. Maybe the Order or Dumbledore left something useful here -instructions or clues.” 

“Good thinking.”

With one last glance behind her, she found Harry back at the window again; peeking outside, then pacing the room, then peeking outside again. She forced her inert, languid limbs up the winding staircase. The old wood creaked in protest beneath and the portraits stirred where they slept. Ron took one half of the old house, while Hermione took the other. She found herself in many familiar rooms which she had stayed in before, collecting heavy blankets and fine silk pillows. The former she folded into a neat pile and charmed them to follow her throughout the house, while she carried the latter close to her chest. It was as she was making her way down the hall to bring the items back to Harry that she noticed the gold name plate on the bedroom door: _Narcissa Amalthea Black._

Despite her better judgement, Hermione set down the pillows she was carrying and turned the knob. Inside the room was equally as elegant as it was miserable. The ebony furniture blended into the deep aubergine wall in the darkness of the room. Hermione flicked the switch on the wall beside the door to turn on the light, but nothing happened. It must have been broken. Clearly no-one had been in this particular room for years. She pulled out her wand and whispered the _‘Lumos’_ incantation, emitting a bright white light in front of her. On the dressing table she found a round gilded mirror and a gold antique hair brush to match, with the woman’s initials engraved on the back. There were expensive perfumes, jewellery boxes with her finery inside and other trinkets as well. On the wall, opposite the grand four-poster bed, was a portrait of the woman in her youth. She must have been no older than twelve or thirteen when it was painted. Hermione examined the painting up close. With white-blonde hair that fell past her shoulders and her pointed face, the sleeping child was so like Draco it was uncanny. The young witch shook her head, trying to forget the boy she once knew, and made her way to the writing desk to look for any clues the Order might have left. For all Hermione had assumed about Narcissa, one thing she had never expected was for her bedroom to be left so thoroughly unprotected. There were no locks on the drawers or enchantments to prevent her from rummaging through her things. Even if she hadn’t set foot in the house for twenty years or more, some -if not all- privacy charms would have lasted all this time. Yet there were none. Perhaps the woman didn’t care who found her belongings or what they did with them. Hermione pursed her lips. That was one way in which she was nothing like her son. Draco would have been furious if he knew there was anyone at all looking through _his_ things. He was, of course, quite happy to look through other people’s though. 

As her fingers traced the contents of the draw, she found herself pulling out a book and a bundle of letters, fastened together with a black ribbon. Hermione thumbed through the book first and found it was in fact a diary, detailing Narcissa’s time at Hogwarts. She knew it was better not to read it. God knows what foul, horrible things that awful woman had to say about muggle-borns. But, through morbid curiosity and the urge to know more about Draco’s mother, Hermione found herself reading through it nonetheless; 

_Lucius and I stayed up late again this evening, reading poetry together and watching the stars. Although I know I should have been studying for my O.W.Ls, I couldn’t help myself. We do this almost every night now, sneaking out of the castle for a few hours alone. He’s so kind and intelligent. I’ve never quite met anyone like him. He’s taught me so much in the few years we’ve known each other -all about magical theory and history. He’s taught me charms and curses that Hogwarts would never allow us to use._

_He hates it here. For that very reason, in fact. He’s been begging his parents to transfer him to Durmstrang, but I think, for now at least, I’ve convinced him to stay. He only has one more year left of this school while I have two._

_I can’t imagine I could do my final year alone, without him. Oh I dread to think of it!_

_He tells me he plans on becoming a Death Eater when he finishes. It’s a noble pursuit, but it’s terribly dangerous. I have to admit I’m rather afraid for him. A job in the Ministry would do better, I think, but he’ll have none of it. He wants to cleanse the world. To create a pure society, free from the foul existence of mudbloods. It’s what I admire most about him. He wants to make the world a better-_

Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed the diary aside, unable to read anymore. Though she didn’t learn anything of great importance, she had to admit she was rather taken aback by Narcissa’s affection for the boy who would one day become her husband. The moments they shared together were eerily reminiscent of her and Draco. She couldn’t count how many times they had crept out of their respective dorms to meet on top of the Astronomy Tower where they would read and talk and practice charms. Or how much new -often restricted- magic he had taught her overtime. Was this how Malfoy men lured women in? Through exceptional charm and cleverness. It was a very odd thought indeed, 

“Don’t you dare touch my things, filthy mudblood!” 

Hermione stumbled back, still holding the love letters from Lucius to Narcissa which she’d been about to read. She looked up to find the portrait of a child Narcissa glaring at her, with her hands on her hips. Her expression dark and murderous, 

“You vile little good-for-nothing filth! Put it down! Put it down now!”

Hermione quirked a brow at her. Feeling rather irritated and oddly powerful, she held the letters up in front of her with her glowing wand pointed directly at them, 

“If you’re going to be rude, I’ll just burn them.” 

Young Narcissa’s eyes went wide and she stomped her foot, 

“Don’t you threaten me, you horrible-”

_“Igni.”_

A single flame burst from her wand and caught the edge of the letter bundle. Narcissa let out a scream and begged her to stop. With a wave of her wand the fire died and only the edge of the letters were destroyed. She threw them back on the writing desk and gave the portrait a warning glare. Hoping the dreary painting would know not to mess with her again. For a while Narcissa was quiet, glowering at the girl in her room, as she plucked petals from the vase of flowers beside her in the painting. Hermione found another book tucked under the bed and covered in dust. She brushed it off with her sleeve and read the title; _The Culling._ Upon inspection, she realised it was a fiction book written in the style of horror. With muggle-borns as the antagonists of the tale. It followed their persecution of innocent pureblood families and the uprising formed by a kindly young man called Tom. Hermione easily made the connection and decided to keep the book. If it was based on tales of Voldemort’s beginnings then perhaps there was something in it that might help them. Perhaps it could reveal the location of the next Horcrux to them. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing with that?!” 

“Well, I highly doubt _you’re_ going to read it.” Hermione couldn’t keep the malice out of her tone. 

Although only a girl in the portrait, Narcissa had a way of getting under her skin. She told herself it was merely because she was such a horrid woman now, but deep down she knew the truth. It was because she was Draco’s mother and everything about her reminded Hermione of him. 

“How dare you talk to me like that?!” Young Narcissa demanded, her grey eyes lit with indignation. 

“Oh bugger off, you horrible little troll!” The bushy-haired witch fired back, at her wits end with the girl in the frame. 

“Hermione?” 

She turned to find Ron standing in the doorway with a concerned look on his already troubled face. His eyes flickered to the portrait, the discarded diary and letters, the book in her hand,

“What’re you doing in here?”

“Looking for clues. Anything the Order might have left behind.” 

“In her room?” He nodded towards the portrait, “Doubt anyone would have left anything in here.” 

Hermione sighed. He was right. No matter how much she told herself Sirius or Tonks might have left them something useful, the truth was they wouldn’t have left it in _here_ . In fact, the only reason she was even in this damned room was because she was hoping to find something of him here. A note of his, a photo maybe, one of his drawings. A piece of him. One that reminded her of when they were friends. Not like the brooch. No. _That_ reminded her of the worst night of her life. The night he left, the night he was going to kill Dumbledore, the night he chose Death Eaters over her. Of course she wouldn’t find anything of him here. He’d never even set foot in this place. The Blacks had left years before he was even born. 

“I think it’s best we leave this one alone.” Ron said, his voice was gentle and there was a knowing look in his eyes, 

“I have to agree with the blood-traitor!” 

Ron threw the little girl a dark glare as Hermione made her way over to him. He closed the door behind her and looked down at the book in her hand, 

“It’s about You-Know-Who. Ridiculous book from what I gather, but it’s loosely based on him. There might be information in it. We could use it.” 

“Well, Harry or I can look through it if you want. There’s going to be a lot of awful things in that about-”

“I know.” Hermione clutched the book to her chest to stop him from taking it, “But I want to read it. Gain a bit of perspective.” 

“Why though?” He sounded completely baffled,

“I want to know why they think the way they do...why they believe in it.” 

He frowned, his kind expression changing to one of annoyance, 

“He’s really messed with your head, hasn’t he?” 

She shook her head and charmed the pillows to follow her back down the winding stairs, 

“Hermione, you can’t let him get to you like this. He’s a Death Eater now. That changes things.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it tonight, Ron.” 

“Is that why you’ve been taking the Peace Draught?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her mouth hanging open in shock,

“In case you haven’t noticed there’s lots of reasons a person might want to take that right now! Anyway it’s only every once in a while.” 

“It’s not like you though. That stuff can be addictive and if it’s not brewed right-”

“Ha! Please, I could make that with my eyes closed!” 

Hermione couldn’t believe he was actually doubting her potion-making skills. There were only a handful of times she’d ever messed up a potion and this particular mixture was never one of them. He was still pressing her about it and consequently about Draco when they reached the entrance of the lounge and found Harry fiddling with the keys of the old piano. Ron chucked a pillow at him which hit him right in the face and fell to the floor. Harry picked it up and threw it on the chesterfield. While Ron lay out some of the blankets to make two cosy-enough beds for them. 

“You sure you don’t want me to do the watch, mate?” Ron asked,

“No.” Harry shook his head, “You two sleep. I’ll be fine.” 

Ron shrugged and settled down onto the sofa, his hands behind his head as he kicked off his shoes and pulled the blankets up around him. Hermione sat on the sofa opposite him, with her back against the arm-rest and her knees pulled up to her chin. The book she tucked under her pillow in case she decided to read it later. God knows she’d wake at some point tonight. Within minutes of his head hitting the pillow, Ron was fast asleep and snoring rather loudly. Harry sat beside her, his green gaze never leaving her face, 

“Are you ok, ‘Mione?” 

“I’m worried, Harry...about Ron’s family. About this mission of ours. About....” 

_About Draco._

“Everything.” She finished. 

He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze, his lips pulled in his best reassuring smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes though and she knew by looking at him he was afraid too, 

“The Weasleys will be fine. They’re clever; they’ll have gotten away. And we will get through this. We’ll defeat him.”

“I hope so.” 

With that she slid down on the sofa, resting her bare feet on Harry’s lap. As her head sank into the plush silk pillow, her eyelids felt ever heavier and within moments that last ounce of adrenaline that had kept her awake was gone. The young witch drifted off to sleep, her limbs aching with the need to rest. 

_“Why are you doing this?!” she cried, tears stinging her eyes._

_She was standing on top of the Astronomy tower, with her wand out, pointed at the white-blonde haired boy. His wand in turn was pointed at Dumbledore. The old headmaster was trying his best to calm the boy and keep his attention, and that of the Death Eaters behind him, away from the muggle-born witch and her parents._

_Yes. Her parents were there too. Gripping each other tightly, they cowered behind the headmaster. Everytime another masked figure moved towards them they would edge back slightly, and Hermione was aware that with one wrong step, they could trip and fall over the balcony to their deaths. Lucius Malfoy came into view just then, clapping a hand on Draco’s back in encouragement. The boy looked at his father’s hand, then back towards the headmaster, then to her. Hermione attempted to move, but thick, Devil’s Snare vines circled her feet and legs, rendering her immobile._

_“You can do this, Draco.” the older Malfoy whispered, “Think of what it would do for our family. The Dark Lord would be so proud.”_

_The boy’s face was stoic, unmoving. She couldn’t read his features, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking or what he might do._

_“Kill them.” Bellatrix’s voice came from the shadows. “Kill them all.”_

_“Avada Kedavra!” the word’s left the boy’s mouth in an instant._

_“NO!” she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks and crashing down around them._

_With a flash of green light, Dumbledore was dead. He fell down to the ground. His body turning to ash and floating away into the night sky. Draco turned his wand on her parents then, and, using the Imperius curse, lifted them into the air as if they were mere ragdolls. His expression never changed, wooden and puppet-like, as he flung them out over the balcony. She heard their screams echoing around them, followed only by the loud whip and snap of their bones breaking as their bodies hit the rocks below. Her legs buckled and she would have collapsed to her knees had the vines around her calves not forced her upright._

_Between heavy sobs that shook her to the very core, she watched with wide eyes as the boy she loved turned his wand on her._

_“And now for the mudblood.” Voldemort’s voice spoke from those pale lips she’d kissed once in this very place._

 _She aimed her wand at him in return, holding it with both hands shaking. She was afraid of him. Not just afraid of his unpredictable moods or afraid of biting words he was sure to sneer at her, but afraid of_ him _. Afraid of what he could now do to her...afraid of what he had already done._

_“You bastard! You bastard! I hate you! You horrible, foul little traitor! You’re a coward!” she spat the words, her voice hoarse from the emotions that welled and clawed at her insides._

_As Draco made his way towards her, he shook his head from side to side and with each movement the handsome features twisted and shifted into greyish, leatherish skin. Full lips pulled back until there was nothing left, only teeth, his angular jaw filled out and his nose sank into his face until it was nothing more than two slits. The young man’s black suit transformed into billowing black robes. Voldemort stood in front of her. She prayed Harry and Ron would bust through the door then and rescue her, help her defeat the dark wizard who drew closer and closer with each breath. But somehow she knew in her heart, if she was here and they weren’t, then they must have already been dead._

_As if reading her mind, Voldemort laughed, “No Potter to save you now!”_

_She glared at him, summoning all of her Gryffindor courage,_

_“I’m not afraid of you!” she lied._

_The Dark Lord smiled darkly, “Oh, but you should be. AVADA KEDAVRA!”_

Hermione opened her eyes and found herself staring at the grand, panelled ceiling of 12 Grimmauld Place. _It was just a dream,_ she thought. _Just another nightmare_. She tried to sit up, but found herself unable to do so, as if something was pressing down against her. She glanced across the room and saw her wand lying on the thick, woven rug below her. She must have dropped it while tossing and turning in her sleep. Ron was asleep on the other side of the room and Harry was standing near the large Georgian-style windows, searching the streets below for any signs of approaching Death Eaters. She tried to call out to him, to draw his attention, but she couldn’t even open her mouth to make a sound. 

_What is happening?! Is this some kind of magic? Some kind of Stupefy?_

“It won’t work.” came a drawl from above her. 

She looked up again with only her eyes -the only part of her that wasn’t currently paralysed- and found Draco standing above her, hair hanging in front of his face, eyes dark and glowering down at her, 

“Even if you could speak, he won’t hear you.” 

He bent down beside her then, and traced his wand along her temple. Hot blood trickled down the side of her head from whatever curse he’d used on her. It stung, but not nearly as much as it should have. 

“Stupid mudblood.” his grey eyes were so full of hate, he reached out and grabbed her throat, squeezing hard enough that she could barely breathe, “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill all of you.”

Hermione willed herself to move, to fight him, to grab her wand and hex him, but it was no use. Her limbs wouldn’t work. Her body was frozen and all she could do was let out a small, muffled sob as a tear rolled down her cheek. 

“You wanna know the best part? I’m gonna enjoy it.” 

With that he disappeared. 

She sat bolt upright as a scream escaped her. Harry ran over to her and was at her side within seconds. Ron sat up, wand out but his eyes were barely open. He looked around, groggily. 

“Hermione? Hermione? Are you alright?” Harry reached up to touch her face and she jumped away from him instinctively. That didn’t deter him though as he grabbed her hands and kissed them this time, hoping to calm her. 

“What? Is there someone here?” Ron whispered, searching the room with his eyes. 

“I think it was just a dream.” Harry replied. 

The other boy nodded, remembering that the Boy-Who-Lived often had violent nightmares like this. Hermione regained her breath, but the tears were still coming thick and fast. She realised she was soaked in sweat and her hands felt icy cold against Harry’s, 

“He was here.” she mumbled, mostly to herself,

“You-Know-Who?” Ron asked, 

Hermione shook her head, damp curls sticking to her cheeks, 

“I was on the Astronomy Tower...w-with Dumbledore and my parents and…” she swallowed hard, biting back more tears, “Draco...Draco was there. He killed them both. Then he turned into You-Know-Who and he killed me.” 

Harry wiped a tear away with his thumb, his hand cupping her face, she leant into his touch. She’d forgotten how gentle he was, how comforting his skin felt against hers,

“It was just a dream, Hermione. It wasn’t real.”

“But then I woke up! And I couldn’t move...and Draco was here,” she pressed one hand to her head, trying to make sense of it all, “In this room...h-he was so real. He said he was going to kill us. There was nothing I could do!” 

Harry pulled her close and hugged her tight. Ron joined in too, draping one arm around her and another around Harry, 

“Shhh, it’s alright. It was a nightmare.” Harry shushed her,

“But I was awake and he _was_ here and I couldn’t move!” she sounded panicked as she pulled away and got to her feet, searching the dark room around them with her gaze, 

“It’s called sleep paralysis, ‘Mione. I get it sometimes too. You’re awake, but still dreaming. It wasn’t real.” 

“Blimey,” Ron said, scratching his neck, “That sounds awful.” 

Hermione bit her lip and hugged herself. She watched the two boys exchange glances, their disapproval written all over their faces. They tried to hide the look, quickly changing their expressions back to ones of concern, but it wasn’t fast enough. She’d caught them, and she knew they were cursing Draco’s name. They knew of her friendship and on-again-off-again romance with the Slytherin, but they didn’t understand. They would never understand because they had never seen that side of him the way she had. 

_I’m scared for him, Harry. I’m scared_ of _him._

She wanted to say the words, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak them. Out of worry of what her two friend’s reactions would be, she kept quiet. Silently, she caressed the black sapphire gem, half tempted to tear it from her neck and get rid of it. 

Had he really been trying to protect her all this time? Or was this brooch some way for him to track her and lead the Death Eaters right to Harry? He’d told her he loved her the last time they spoke and in that moment she truly believed him. But he was also extremely cunning. And as much as she loved him, as much as she wanted to think otherwise, Hermione wouldn’t put it past him to use whatever resources he had at his disposal to save his own skin. She remembered his words in the hospital wing the last night she had seen him. Despite all the evidence hanging against him, she’d refused to believe he was a Death Eater. She’d asked him why he had to leave and why she couldn’t go with him. She’d already known the answer that night, but she refused to admit it. Denial was easier. _Please, just...trust me?_ He’d begged. 

She didn’t know if she could anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, 
> 
> So I just want to clarify Harry knew about Hermione and Draco at the end of fourth year when he caught them kissing on top of the Astronomy Tower. Ron didn't learn about them until after Draco was hospitalised following the fight in the bathroom -and Hermione was at his side night and day. The boys weren't happy about this obviously, but they accepted it for the sake of their friendship. 
> 
> Draco also pushed Hermione away come sixth year, so she knew nothing about him becoming a Death Eater or his mission from Voldemort. 
> 
> Well, anyway, let me know what you think. Any feedback is much appreciated and I hope the characters are as true to themselves as they could be in this situation x


	3. On Thin Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of the attack on the wedding, Voldemort is eager for information. Horrified at the turn of events, Draco makes a feeble attempt to help one of the victims but quickly learns there is no refusing the Dark Lord.

* * *

_We’ll never get free, lamb to the slaughter_

_What’re you gonna do when there’s blood in the water?_

* * *

Draco woke from the dream with a start. His skin cold and his silken bed sheets damp with sweat. He was panting. Clutching his heart in case it decided to burst out of his chest. He sat on the side of the bed, hands gripping the mattress tightly enough that his pale skin stretched against his knuckles, turning them white and emphasising his already thin, bony hands. The weight had been dropping off him as of late. It was only expected given that he could hardly sleep or eat. The nightmares were constant. He watched nightly as his parents were murdered by the Dark Lord, his school friends eaten by Nagini, and worst of all the muggle-born girl he loved was tortured and killed by his Aunt Bellatrix. 

There was no escaping it. During the day, Death Eaters roamed the halls of the Manor, torturing, killing, plotting and during the night he relieved it all. Only much, much worse. Because at night it wasn’t just strangers or old professors he was only somewhat acquainted with. At night it was his dearest loved ones. A constant reminder of what was at stake should he dare to slip up. 

He ran his hand down his face, clearing the sweat from his already gaunt, sickly features. 

“Shit.” He muttered as he reached for his silver watch. 

Two thirty-eight. 

_Oh, marvelous!_ He thought bitterly once he realised he’d only managed an hour and a half of sleep. He realised the hair on his arms was standing on edge, and took a deep breath. He told himself they were only dreams, that it meant nothing. But this, he knew was no ordinary dream. It had felt so real. _He_ had killed Dumbledore, _he_ had killed the dentists -her parents- and then while controlled by The Dark Lord, _he_ had killed her too. 

The dreams about her were the worst. They never felt like his own. There were always people and things in them that were important to her, that either he’d never much cared about, like Potter for one, or that he’d never known much about; muggle things for example. They were eerily vivid. He could feel the splinters from the wand in his hand, feel the cold air against his cheek, smell her rose and patchouli perfume, taste the bile in his mouth and feel the churning of his guts at what he was about to do. He couldn’t remember when it had started, but it was sometime after the night on the Astronomy Tower. He hated even remembering that night. How all his happy memories there with her, would now be tainted by images of Death Eaters climbing the stairs and Professor Snape killing his headmaster. Sometime after that awful night, maybe a few days, maybe a week, the dreams started. 

“Draco, dear?” His mother, Narcissa, peered into his room, her hand up as if she had knocked, and entered when there was no reply. “My love, what’s wrong?!” 

She was at his side in an instant, bent down, peering up into his face. Her hands on his knees with a gentle caress of her thumbs. He would have hugged her were they not perpetually watched. The walls had eyes in this place. Gone were the days when he could just embrace his mother when he was troubled. No. That would be a sign of weakness now. He sat expressionless and cleared his throat, 

“Dreams.” He said, carefully, “Ugly ones.” 

“Ah.” Narcissa replied, understanding, “We all have those.” 

He could see she wanted to comfort him, but what could she do really? When it was just her, Lucius and him, she would have been kinder, more gentle. As if to somehow make up for the fact that she allowed his father to beat him. However, now that their home was housing the followers of the Dark Lord, she was more cautious with her words and her emotions. They all were. The Malfoys were on thin ice at present and things were only getting worse. They needed to redeem themselves. To protect themselves. And the only way to do that was to remain cold and ruthless. 

“Now, you must hurry. The Dark Lord is coming.” 

Though she tried desperately, she couldn’t quite feign the same excitement Bella always managed. 

“Get dressed.” She said, as she stood and made her way to the door, “He’ll be here soon.” 

The door closed behind her and Draco stood. He stared at himself in the mirror. Oh and what a sight he was! Ribs poking out from under thin, almost translucent skin. Scars criss-crossing across his bare torso. Oh yes, he had been subject to much torture himself under the orders of the Dark Lord. First for failing to kill his headmaster, and secondly for letting Potter get away. Aunt Bella and Dolohov had done most of the work. Her, with her bloody enchanted dagger and Dolohov with a whip. Others took part too, but stuck to magic. It was anyone’s guess what their favourite curse was. He sneered at himself in the mirror, disgusted by his own reflection. Disgusted most by _that fucking mark_ on his arm. 

The longer he looked at it, the tighter his fists clenched. 

_CRACK!_

He gazed down at his fist in shock. The realisation hit him that he had just punched the ornate and centuries old mirror without meaning to. Or at least without thinking about it first. He huffed and looked down at his blood-smeared hand. Oh well, so what if his anger got the better of him now and then? Anger served him well here. More often than not anyway. He wiped the blood away on his bed sheet and cleaned the silver ring on his third finger. 

On it, sat an enchanted black sapphire gem. Its twin was in the brooch he’d given her on their last encounter. He knew she was wearing it. Or had it on her at least. He’d charmed it to only react when _she_ was in danger. It wouldn’t work if it was locked away in a drawer somewhere or if some old fool snatched it. He’d created it for the soul purpose of protecting her. Without her presence, or without her alive, it was just another pretty stone. It had been tricky to make. Ancient Auror level magic and all that. It had taken him months -from March to January in fact. Particularly tricky, given that he needed two; one for her and one for him. It didn’t do much for him other than let him know when she was safe and when she wasn’t. It hissed for him when she was in trouble, the same way it did for her, and gave a barely visible twinkle, when she was safe again. It was inconspicuous. Just another shiny Malfoy decoration. Only he knew the true meaning. It had been hissing earlier that night as well. Multiple times. It happened a lot lately. He hoped she’d found somewhere safe and was now laying low. 

_Heh. Not bloody likely._

With a deep sigh, Draco got dressed and made his way down the grand staircase, towards the dining room. He took his place in between his mother and father, and watched the other figures clad in black sit down. The Dark Lord was sitting at the head of the table, eyeing everyone in the room with keen suspicion. 

Draco greeted him with a nod. 

“Now,” Voldemort spoke, once everyone was seated, “have you news?” 

He was addressing the Death Eaters he’d sent to the Burrow, namely Yaxley, Greyback, Rowle, Dolohov, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, Pieter Goyle and Bellatrix. 

“They got away, Master.” Bella announced, already hanging her head in shame, “It seems they received a warning beforehand. From the Ministry.” 

She glared dangerously at the man at the other end of the long, dining table. Voldemort turned his gaze on Pius, the Ministry official now held captive just like him, 

“I-It must have been Shacklebolt, sire. He’s...t-the only r-remaining sympathiser.” 

The Dark Lord turned back to the others and opened his arms out wide, gesturing around him, 

“What else?” 

“The boy escaped.” his aunt continued, “With the blood-traitor and the mudblood in tow.” 

Draco’s mouth went dry. He had to be careful. He had to keep his face devoid of emotion, inscrutable, and keep his mind clear and focused. If he gave anything away, with a sigh of relief or a concerned frown, if he left himself open for his mind to be penetrated, then all his hard work to protect his family, to protect her, would be for nothing. They would all be dead before dawn. 

“We have these, however.” Greyback said, his voice a low growl as he dragged a small group into the room, each linked to one another with a long, thick chain that ended with a collar around their necks. 

There were five victims in total and while Draco couldn’t go as far as to say he knew them personally, he recognised them nonetheless. The first were the Knightlys, a family of three. The father, Alistair, was a half-blood and a book shop owner who was a known activist against blood prejudice. He had been very vocal in recent months about rising up against the Dark Lord. His wife, Theodora, was a muggle-born and a powerful alchemist turned investigator for the Ministry. Their son, Timothy, was a brown haired boy of only seven years old who hadn’t even had a chance to learn to use his magic yet, before being captured by the darkest wizard of all time. Draco gulped at the sight of the small boy, his brow furrowed and sweat formed on his upper lip. For the first time in months, the former Slytherin felt the expressionless mask he wore slip. Surely they weren’t going to harm the boy? 

He was a _child._

The others included the well renowned Elphias Doge, a pureblood and loyalist of the Order of the Phoenix, and Emily Durich, a former Hogwarts student he remembered. She was a year or two above him as he recalled and a Hufflepuff. True to the nature of her house, she was kind and never one to cause trouble for others. If he remembered rightly, then she was a skilled witch as well with a penchant for potions. He didn’t know her lineage or her affiliation, if she had one. In fact, the only reason he was aware of that could have brought her here to them was her connection with the older Weasley boys.

“They were at the wedding.” Greyback added, “They could have information.”

Voldemort smiled as he crossed the room towards them, closing the distance between himself and his captives. 

“Ahh, Elphias, it’s been a long time.” The Dark Lord spoke, his tone smooth and dripping with unspoken threats, “Such wasted potential to have a pureblood like you turn against your own kind.” He pressed a hand to his chest, in faux-hurt, and the other Death Eaters erupted into laughter. 

Doge said nothing, but his eyes were defiant. Draco wasn’t sure if he stayed quiet because he knew better than to speak against the Dark Lord with so many enemies around him or if it was because he didn’t want to give anything away. Either way, it wasn’t out of fear that he remained silent, that much was obvious. 

Voldemort turned his eyes on the Durich girl then. He drew his wand across her jaw as he glowered down at her in her pretty silver gown, 

“And who might you be?” 

“That’s Emily Durich, sire.” Bellatrix said, ready to give her master whatever he needed, “She attended Hogwarts with dear Draco. Pureblood but a traitor. Her current beau is a _mudblood,_ isn’t he, sweetie?” Bellatrix grabbed the girl’s face and sneered at her, her face twisted as if she’d smelt something foul, while the girl sobbed, “But we killed him tonight, didn’t we? One less of them to worry about anyway.” 

Durich let out a whimper, unable to do much else in her grief. Whatever was left of Draco’s heart went out to her. The girl, he was sure, could easily be a reflection of his future if he made even one wrong move. The former Slytherin made sure not to look at her for too long, afraid he might give himself away. He focused instead on Doge, drawing strength from the old man’s unwavering bravery. The old man returned his gaze, glaring at him just as he did with any one of them that caught his eye. Yes, it was better to focus on someone with fight in them. Someone who -while they most definitely wouldn’t survive unless the Dark Lord wanted them to- might just make it until the morning. 

“Draco…” The Dark Lord’s hand brushed his shoulder, “Do you know this girl?”

_Be careful. Give nothing away. Don’t lie. They’ll know if you lie._

His thoughts raced. 

“Not really.” He answered, 

“But you went to school with her?” 

He gave one nod, painfully aware that everyone’s attention was now on him,

“Then you should do the honours! Come! Up, up!” Voldemort gestured for him to stand. 

Draco did as he was asked. Voldemort led him over to the girl. He didn’t need to say what he wanted, he already knew and raised his wand with a trembling hand. _Steady yourself, you idiot!_ The Dark Lord gripped his arm and immediately the trembling stopped, his body frozen with fear. 

“Go on.” The Dark Lord whispered in his ear.

The girl stared at him, pleading with him with only her eyes as her lip trembled and more tears marred her pretty -though quite plain- face, 

_“C-Crucio!”_

She screamed, her knees buckling. The chains and the other captives she was linked to were her only means of support, the only thing keeping her on her feet. Her body writhed and bent in painful-looking spasms as he continued to inflict the agony upon her. _I’m so sorry!_ He thought. _I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this._

“What do you know of the boy, Potter? Where did he go?” The Dark Lord demanded to know. 

The Durich girl could barely speak between anguished screams, but she did her best, 

“He left…” another scream, “w-with a blonde haired girl…and Her-Hermione…left with a boy…” 

Draco kept his expression smooth. It was the first time he’d heard her first name in months. Most just referred to her only as the ‘Mudblood’ or ‘Granger girl’. He hadn’t even allowed himself to think her name in fear that thinking it could break him, could crack the facade and give Voldemort an opening into his mind, where he would learn everything that had transpired in his six years at Hogwarts. 

He shut that part of his life down. Locked it away. Nothing had happened. There was nothing the others could learn from him that they didn’t already know. Or at least that’s what he told himself. It helped, too. He had managed to compartmentalise his thoughts, his emotions, his wants, just enough to keep Voldemort out of his head. 

“I don’t…” another blood curdling cry, “I don’t know where….where they went….please stop! Please….stop!” 

Draco lowered his wand. 

The Dark Lord sneered at him, 

“She doesn’t know anything.” The white-blonde haired boy’s voice was halfway between a croak and a whisper. 

“I decide if she knows anything!” Lord Voldemort snarled, “Go, Draco!” 

He stumbled backwards for a moment, waiting for some kind of punishment. There was none. Draco hastily made his way over to his mother, who rubbed his arm and gave him a small smile. 

“Lucius, your boy needs more backbone.” Voldemort’s dark eyes landed on his father, “He won’t be much use to me if he can’t even torture a filthy blood-traitor.” 

The threat was clear. 

“Forgive me, my lord. I will see to it he learns his place. Thank you.” 

“Yaxley,” Voldemort turned away from the Malfoys, as if sick of looking at them, “take this filth down to the dungeon. Find out what they know, but leave the boy here.” 

“NO!” Theodora Knightly shouted, her voice cracking, “Take me! Please, take me! He doesn’t know anything! He’s a child! He’s my baby, please!” 

The blonde haired Death Eater named Yaxley, unchained the small Timothy Knightly and threw him over to Rowle, who held the boy with a grip tight enough to bruise. The child cried and reached for his parents as they were dragged away. Draco turned away, he couldn’t watch this. He _wouldn’t_ watch this. Leaning against the black mahogany sideboard, he wondered if there was something he could do...something...anything to help the poor child. He could distract them, maybe, but how? Lie? Tell them he knew something about Potter’s whereabouts? No, he would be caught and his entire family would be killed. If he begged them not to harm him it would be a weakness; and his family would be killed. If he tried to stop them it would be defiance; and his family would be killed. Every possible outcome if he tried to intervene would end with his family’s demise. 

“My lord…” Narcissa spoke tentatively, “He’s just a child…”

“Narcissa!” Lucius hissed, grabbing her arm. 

“As a child he is useless to us.” Voldemort replied, 

“He’s...l-leverage.” Draco couldn’t keep the quiver out of his voice, “You could use him t-to make the others talk.” 

The Dark Lord laughed suddenly, “Now that...that is more like it, my boy!”

Draco’s lips began to pull into a tight smile. Maybe, just maybe, they’d saved him. 

“Although, I don’t need him to make them talk. I already have so many ways…” 

The words hung in the air. Draco turned away from them to hide the tears he was no longer able to hold back. He closed his eyes and willed himself not to care. What did it matter anyway? He didn’t know him! They had killed so many people in front of him now, what difference did it make if they were young or old? It didn’t matter to him! But even as he told himself this he knew it was a lie. 

It was then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up to see his father, staring down at him with disapproval. Draco glared back. Lucius turned the younger Malfoy around to face the others and, consequently, the little boy. 

“You will watch.” His father whispered, tightening his grip on the young Death Eater.

“I want my mummy!” Cried the Knightly boy, “Mummy! Daddy! HELP!” 

“Bella, my dear, if you may….” The Dark Lord smiled. 

_“AVADA KEDAVRA!”_

The youngest Knightly fell to the ground with a quiet _thud._ He was gone. Dead. Draco stared at him, hoping against hope that it wasn’t real. That this was just another dream. He’d wake any moment now. But the longer he stared at the boy’s lifeless body, the more he realised this wasn’t going to go away. He wouldn’t open his eyes to find the dark confines of his room and sweat-soaked sheets.

This was very real and he had done nothing to stop it. Despite his attempts, he couldn't hold back the tears that filled his grey eyes. He kept his head down in shame. Merlin forbid the others seeing him crying over the dead child. They'd rip him limb from limb if they did. Or worse. 

_Don't look at him. He's gone now. There's nothing you can do..._ He told himself as the others discussed the attack. _Not that you did anything anyway, you coward._

The meeting continued on as if nothing had happened. The Death Eaters gave the Dark Lord their account of the events. They explained who had got away and whom they’d captured, what their next leads were and how they planned to find Potter for him. Draco kept his eyes on his trembling hands, afraid to look up and catch sight of the dead child once more. He listened closely for any sign that they were closing in on his former classmates, but there was none. One by one the Death Eaters nodded and left the room with a bow, eager to escape and get to work. Draco waited until they had all left, until Dolohov had taken the boy’s body away and the Dark Lord had vanished, to run a shaky hand through his hair. The gem was still twinkling softly. He took comfort in it and let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. 

Wherever they had gone, they were safe for now. 

“The sooner they find that blasted Potter and his vile little tribe the better!” Lucius growled. 

His moods had taken a turn for the worst since Voldemort had taken his wand. Lucius knew, as they all did, that they were being made an example of to the others. The more he tried to impress the Dark Lord, the more Voldemort rebuffed him. It was an endless cycle. As an outsider watching their encounters, Draco couldn't help but see the similarities between Lucius' relationship with their master and his own with his father. For years, he was wont to following every command Father bid him, emulating everything from the robes he wore to the words that left his lips. Though whether through a compulsive urge to make him proud or in an attempt to be as much like him as possible, he didn't know. All he knew was that for years, he saw Lucius as a god. He was captivated by his father, fixated by his every mannerism. Yet Lucius only ever treated him with contempt, viewing him as little more than a pawn in his games. Draco smirked. Much as he adored his father, it gladdened him to bear witness to his comeuppance. He only wished it didn't involve the brutal murders of innocent people -wizarding and muggle kind alike. 

“Well, we wouldn’t be in this position if _you_ hadn’t failed him. And had brought back the damn prophecy!”

The anger was back and Draco could not contain it. Not after what had just happened. Not after Lucius had forced him to watch. 

“What was that, boy?!” 

Lucius took a fistful of Draco’s collar and lifted him from his seat with ease. His mother came to his side, smoothing down her husband’s robes and asking him to calm down. He shoved her away and that was the end of her protest. Lucius threw Draco down onto the floor and swung the cane at his legs; hard enough to bruise but not hard enough to break. He clenched his teeth so as not to let out a scream. Another sign of weakness that could be held against him. 

“Lucius, please! That’s enough!” Narcissa cried as she climbed to her feet, 

“How _dare_ you?! I failed him? _I FAILED HIM?_ You couldn’t even kill one man. One old, defenseless man! You’re pathetic!”

He swung at the boy on the floor with his cane again, hitting his son on the left side of his face with the silver snake’s head. Draco couldn’t help but let out a chuckle as he spat blood onto the floor. The beatings had less effect on him now. They were nothing compared to the torture the others had inflicted upon him. Nothing compared to the Knightly’s pain of watching their son torn away from them. Nothing compared to his anguish knowing he watched as it happened. The fear his father had caused him all those years prior paled in comparison to his fear of the Dark Lord. It was his only silver-lining in this mess. He was no longer afraid of Lucius. He’d discovered there was much, much worse in the world. It gave him a slither of courage. At least where the older Malfoy was concerned. He picked his battles though, he knew better than to anger his father too much. With Lucius in a blind rage, the white-haired man would start making mistakes and his family couldn’t afford that right now. 

Draco got to his feet. Lucius curled his lip in disgust at his son, and left the dining room without another word.

“Draco!” his mother scolded him, “Why must you push him like that?!” 

He rolled his eyes and sat down at the table again, holding his jaw. He watched his mother pour him a goblet of wine to drink to rid the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. 

“Thank you.” he said, curtly, biting back more tears “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him, Mother.” 

Narcissa lifted her own goblet to her lips and took a sip as she leaned against the black mahogany sideboard, she nodded in agreement with him.

He knew she had misunderstood, that she thought he meant their family name, their prestige and their reputation would all still be intact had Lucius not been outwitted by a fifteen year old Potter. But he didn’t mean just that. He meant all of it. They wouldn’t be Death Eaters if it wasn’t for his father. They wouldn’t be cursed with the Dark Mark or forced to kill, forced to watch as others killed people - _children_ , for Merlin’s sake!- they knew in their own home. If it wasn’t for his father, he would be out there with her now. Draco hated him more and more for it. With each passing day, with each new muggle-born witch or wizard they tortured and killed, with each threat that the same could happen to them if they weren’t careful, Draco found it harder and harder to look at his father. 

Although he loved him, his respect for the man was long gone. 

If she felt anything for the poor boy his Aunt Bella had just murdered, Narcissa gave no indication. 

“It will all be worth it, my dear boy.” she kissed his head, a brief but sweet gesture, as her own eyes glistened with tears as well, “We will get through this and come out shining.” 

“Hmph!” 

She held his hands and noticed for the first time the ring and the stone, 

“What’s this?” 

He snatched his hand away.

“Nothing.” 

Draco left the room and quickly stormed down the long halls to the nearest bathroom. 

He was going to be sick. Again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very dark chapter, I know, and I'm really sorry if it was upsetting to anyone.
> 
> I just wanted to show some of the things I imagine Draco is forced to do that make him more inclined to act in later chapters. A big part of this story in him learning to be brave -not Gryffindor brave, let's be real. But Slytherin brave. In a sneaky way. 
> 
> I apologise if my writing style is a little boring. I know the prose are pretty bare bones and I'm not quite sure what to do about it so any feedback is very welcome x


	4. Brewing Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione feels guilty for the war while remembering time spent with Draco in first year. At the same time Harry is missing Sirius and so the pair find comfort in each other, reigniting old feelings from fifth year.

* * *

_If our grave was watered by the rain_

_Would roses bloom? Could roses bloom again?_

* * *

After more than an hour of carefully measuring fluxweed, knotgrass, leeches and the last remaining ingredients, and combining them together using the same method she had used so many times before, finally the potion was ready. 

The thick, black liquid gurgled and bubbled in the cauldron as Hermione stirred the mixture, careful not to let it overheat. God knows they needed it to be perfect. Deciding it was complete, she turned off the stove then and began pouring the liquid into three separate vials. Hands on her hips, the young witch stood back and admired her handiwork. All they needed now was the hair. They’d have to get that tomorrow. It wouldn’t be too difficult if they just waited outside the Ministry and stunned three workers to take their place for a few hours. They just needed to get in, find the locket -which was bound to either be on Umbridge or in her office- and get out. _It will be fine. We’ll be back here in no time._ Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that going to the Ministry was a bad idea. The place had all but been taken over by Death Eaters. Not to mention officials and politicians were under the Imperius Curse. They would right in the thick of it and if they got caught it would all be over for them. Her heart fluttered a little too fast at the thought. She took a deep, calming breath and brushed her frazzled hair away from her face. Then she placed the vials in a wooden potions box with quilted lining and popped it into her little beaded bag. 

When she looked at the creepy-looking clock on the wall, it was after half past ten at night and Harry and Ron had long left the kitchen to attend to other tasks. As she went to find them, she heard the faint discordant notes of the classical Fur Elise played clumsily on the piano. Ron was in the lounge practicing the tune she had tried to teach him hours earlier, a look of intense concentration on his face, 

“You’re getting better.” She smiled, 

The music stopped and he looked up at her then, his cheeks tinged pink, 

“Thanks. Lav was teaching me before all this. It reminds me of her, you know.” 

“Well, I’m sure she’ll be thoroughly impressed when you see her again.” 

His eyes lit up at her optimism, as if he’d been needing that reassurance all day. It must have been hard for him, leaving his entire family and his girlfriend behind. Not to mention she and Harry often got so caught up in their research and what to do next that they sometimes forgot how much of an effect this must have had on him, 

“They’ll be ok, Ron. We’ll find them again. I promise.” 

He gave her a half smile, 

“I know. Just miss them, that’s all.”

“Anyway, have you seen Harry? The potion is ready and we need to make a plan.” 

“Yeah,” he replied, pushing himself away from the piano as he got to his feet and rubbed his eyes, “he’s in the drawing room. He was still trying to figure out the Snitch last I saw. Do you need me there for the plan or…” he yawned, “can I make a pass on this one?” 

Hermione nodded and rubbed his arm, 

“Go to bed. Harry and I will fill you in on all the details tomorrow.” 

His tired expression was awash with relief as he stretched his arms out behind him and then across his chest slightly,

“Cheers. You’re a star, Hermione. I don’t think I could keep my eyes open much longer.” 

“I can tell. You look knackered. Besides no point keeping you down here to make a plan if you’re just going to pass out midway through anyway. We won’t be able to hear ourselves think over your snoring.” 

Ron narrowed his eyes at her jokingly and poked her in the ribs with his finger, causing her to yelp and laugh. Then he trudged up the stairs groggily, calling out a ‘goodnight’ to her on his way up to bed. Harry was in the drawing room, exactly where Ron told her he would be. Only he wasn’t examining the golden Snitch for some kind of secret left behind by Dumbledore, but staring up at the picture of Sirius in the tapestry, his expression full of sadness and grief. Hermione knocked the door lightly so as not to frighten him. Harry’s head snapped around to her then, his gaze meeting hers, 

“The Polyjuice is ready.” 

“Good.” Harry nodded, “Just need to get ourselves the hair then, right? Well, we can go tomorrow. Better to get it over with.” 

Hermione perched herself one the arm of the sofa and gazed up at the tapestry as well, taking in the vast family lineage that dated back through hundreds of generations.

There were the haughtily beautiful and yet glum faces of the pureblood parents, children, cousins and siblings. And black holes where members of the same tree had been torn from the tapestry for marrying, or even just supporting, the wrong kind. Her kind. _Marius_ , born without magic. _Cedrella,_ who married Ron’s grandfather and was considered a blood-traitor for supporting muggle-born rights. _Andromeda,_ Tonk’s mother who married a muggle-born, and of course, _Sirius_ , who rebuffed the family’s prejudiced beliefs. There were a few more names as well, more family members cast out for believing what she knew to be true; that blood meant nothing. She counted seven faces in total torn from the fabric. At first, it seemed like a lot, but when she looked at the vast number of names and faces on the wall, she realised it was in fact very little. Too little. It was so ingrained in them to think the way they did. 

Her eyes fell onto the sharp, angular face at the end of the tree. His face was pulled into that perpetual sneer of his, and his blonde hair hung in front of his eyes. Beside him was a single white Snowdrop flower woven into the fabric. His favourite. It took her back to their first year together practicing charms atop the Astronomy Tower late at night...

_“It’s easy.” He said, a smug smile on his lips._

_Hermione frowned at him, her hands on her hips as she stood over him. He was sitting cross legged on the floor with his wand in his hand and a spell book by his side. It was after ten at night and they had slipped away from their respective dorms to spend time together away from the prying eyes of the other students -who would be sure to out them to the entire school if they were to learn their secret. Draco had lured her away with promises they would actually study together, but half an hour in the blonde had grown bored and started using charms they hadn’t even learned yet._

_“Where did you even learn this?” Hermione asked, “It best not be prohibited.”_

_He rolled his rain coloured grey eyes at her,_

_“Magic is only prohibited if it’s dangerous. Does this look dangerous?”_

_She looked at the white flowers he had effortlessly created around them and bit her lip,_

_“Well, no, but-”_

_“You’re just annoyed I know magic you don’t.” He teased as she huffed and plopped herself down beside him with a pout._

_“You call me a know-it-all but look at you! You’re always using magic we haven’t even learned yet!”_

_“Most of it is what Mother has taught me, and it’s not like you’re the only one who likes to read, Granger. Look, hold your wand like this,” he held his wand at an angle and she copied him perfectly, “now say ‘Fluoeum Creceritum’.”_

_More flowers bloomed the moment the word left his lips. Hermione looked at him with uncertainty, afraid of making a mistake and looking like an idiot in front of him. He gave her a nod of encouragement, she took a deep breath and repeated the incantation,_

_“Fluoeum Creceritum.”_

_A single white flower sprang up from the cobblestone, the petals unfolding out as it bloomed. Her eyes lit with joy and a big smile spread across her face,_

_“Oh my god!” She beamed at him, “I can’t believe I did it!”_

_“It’s perfect.” He grinned back at her._

_“Can I try again?”_

_“Go for it.”_

_Hermione conjured more flowers this time. Three in fact. It was nothing compared to the amount Draco had already created in the short time they’d been here but it was a new spell she had learned that she might not have otherwise and it was all thanks to the boy in front of her. Draco was staring back at her with a mischievous expression on his small, handsome features. Hermione watched as he plucked some of the flowers from the ground and used the levitation spell to lift them in the air so they hung around the two friends. It was beautiful._

_“Invocerio.”_

_With one word, the floating flowers burst around them into the bright white sparks of fireworks, that twinkled in the night air as they burned to the ground._

_“I’ve got more where that came from, Granger.” he said arrogantly._

_“Well, you’ll just have to teach me, won’t you?”_

_The two children smirked at each other._

It was one of her most precious memories of him. They were always learning together, always discussing books and music and magic. He was different when they were alone. Kinder. Gentler. Like he wasn’t afraid of being himself. Like he wasn’t afraid of being seen as weak. 

A part of her was sure the portrait had been stylised to make him look more contemptuous than she knew him to be. Or maybe he’d been in one of his notorious moods that day. Then again maybe she was giving him too much credit. Maybe he was as foul as he looked in this tapestry and she’d been blinded by her love for him all these years. She found herself wondering; if things had been different, if Voldemort had never returned, would Draco’s face have ended up scratched out too one day? Would their friendship have lasted long enough that he’d have been cast from this hideous family tree? Would it have developed into something more? 

No, probably not. He’d told her enough times early on, nothing could ever come from it. Their friendship was doomed from the beginning, all thanks to her _dirty blood_.

“Are you ok, Hermione?” Harry’s voice broke her from her thoughts. 

“Tired, that’s all.” She lied, tearing her gaze away from the tapestry and back to her friend. His eyes hardened and his jaw clenched tight, she watched as he tried to hide whatever it was that had annoyed him, 

“Those nightmares of yours don’t seem to be getting any better.” 

Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear and fiddled with the sleeves of her pink jumper, now understanding the root of his anger. He hated that she wasn’t sleeping, hated that she relied on the Draught of Peace to get her through some of the worst days, hated that -even after everything he’d done- Draco still held a place in her heart, 

“I’ve been thinking it might have something to do with this.” She played with the brooch that hung just below her collarbone, “They’ve gotten worse since I started wearing it.”

“Do you think he’s hexed you? Hermione, if that’s the case you’ve got to take it off! Look what he did to Katie.” 

“But why enchant it with powerful protection spells if he’s going to hex me? Think about it, Harry, it doesn’t make any sense.” 

He eyed the necklace suspiciously, always ready to think the worst of the Slytherin boy, 

“He must have done something.” 

Hermione sighed, “Maybe he messed up one of the spells? It’s magic way beyond any of our knowledge...it’s possible he got something wrong.” 

“All the more reason to take it off!” Harry ground out, “If he didn’t know what he was doing it could be dangerous.”

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under his gaze. He had a point. If he had used the wrong kind of charm or mispronounced the incantation then there was a chance it _could_ pose a threat. Yet it had helped them thus far. The protective and healing charms around it were real. They weren’t just guises. It made no sense for him to go through all the effort of mastering those charms well enough to enchant the gem, if he was going to later use it against them in some way. Then again maybe he anticipated this. Maybe he knew she was clever enough to recognise a fake protection spell and he was covering his tracks. At this point, Hermione didn’t know what to think of him. There were days when she was convinced he was on their side and this brooch was evidence of that. On those days she loved him more. Clearly he was using his resourcefulness and cunning for good. He was being brave even though he was forever under Voldemort’s watchful eye. Other days she loathed him for his cowardice, for not trusting her enough to tell her he was in trouble, for leaving her. It was easy to hate him at times. Those days she would huff in a corner with a book and curse the day she met him. Mostly though she was afraid, both of him and for him. And she didn’t know if she should trust him anymore or not. That was the thing about Draco; everything was always black or white, love or hate, war or truce, friends or enemies. There was never any inbetween. Never any balance. 

“I’m keeping it on for now.” She said quietly and Harry opened his mouth to argue but she cut him off, “But if I think it’s become a hindrance I promise I’ll take it off.” 

“I don’t trust it. Or him.” 

“I know.” She chewed her thumbnail, hoping now she’d agreed to get rid of it if needs be they could drop the topic, “What were you doing in here anyway? Before I came in.” 

Harry looked down at his feet and shuffled his black sneakers against the old, floral rug below, 

“I was talking to Sirius.” He mumbled in reply, embarrassed, “I got so used to him contacting me through the floo network that...I don’t know...I guess I hope he’ll just pop up out of nowhere and help us. It’s mental, I know.”

“Oh, Harry!” She gasped, her face softening, “It’s not mental. It’s completely normal. You miss him. We all do.” 

Hermione crossed the room to give him a tight hug, resting her head on his shoulder, 

“I wish he was here.” Harry mumbled, his warm breath against her neck,

“Me too.” 

After a few moments they pulled away and Hermione sank into the winged-back chair behind her while Harry took the sofa opposite. On the coffee table sat the latest copy of the _Daily Prophet_ with the egregious headline splayed across the front page; _Muggle-Borns Believed to Have Stolen Magic._ The young witch rolled her eyes and lifted the paper to read the obviously ridiculous article in full, 

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” Harry said, gesturing towards the paper in her hands, “Complete rubbish.”

Nevertheless, she ignored him and opened the paper out to read the piece. It was one of the many articles in the recent days outlining the new ‘Muggle-Born Register’ to be put in place so the Ministry could gather information on all those born to non-magical parents and find out how exactly they had obtained their powers. Of course it was all a ruse. A crude guise for Voldemort and the Death Eaters to hide behind so they could round up all of her kind and cull them until there were only purebloods left. Having read quite enough of the idiotic article, she moved on to read about the many individuals and even families who had gone missing in recent weeks, hoping to find something on those they left behind at the Burrow. 

_Knightly Family Presumed Dead_ the title read in bold, black print. The family photo used in the paper was of the three members, Alistair, Theodora and Timothy together on a walk in a local park. Timothy was sitting on his father’s shoulders, with a big, wide grin, and both parents were laughing at something they’d said. Her heart sank. She hoped they’d made it somewhere safe. Maybe they had Apparated just in time, slipped away moments before the Death Eaters landed. It was possible. She didn’t know the family well, but she had played with Timothy upon his visit to the wedding and had really taken to the little boy. He was full of jokes and funny pranks. Hermione remembered chasing him through the giant ivory gazebo, past the band that was playing lively French folk music and around the great grass field, his laughter ringing in her ears. Her heart broke to think they might have been caught, 

“Do you think it’s true?” She asked Harry as she set the paper back down on the coffee table, 

“I hope not.” 

With her brows furrowed, she buried her head in her hands for a moment, afraid her emotions might get the better of her. Then she let out a breath and composed herself, 

“It’s...disheartening. To think how many people believe it.” she gestured to the tapestry, “The Blacks believed it enough to become Death Eaters and cast out anyone who disagreed.” 

“Well, _I_ don’t believe it.” he replied, furious that she was doubting herself “Sirius didn’t believe it. Ron doesn’t believe it. You are just as much a witch as me or-or Ron!” 

She quirked an eyebrow at him and stifled a laugh, 

“You’re witches now, are you?”

His expression softened as his cheeks turned pink,

“I..wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

She chuckled, his green eyes were boring down into her own with the sharp, piercing gaze of his. It was as if he could see right through her. Were all her emotions plastered all of her face? 

“Just because a lot of people believe something doesn’t make it right.” he said, 

The young witched chewed her lip, 

“People are dying because of...because of people like me. And people like you too, I suppose; _mudbloods_ and half-bloods.” she meant to emphasise that word with indignation, but all that came out was defeat, “The Knightleys….the others at the Burrow...anyone of Ron’s family could be…”

It was his turn to look uncomfortable now, because as much as he might want to tell her that everything was going to be ok. They both knew that might not be the case. They’d lost so much already and this was only the beginning, who knows who would be left standing when this was all over! Hermione sometimes thought it would never end and that this was their life now; hiding out in a lonely, old house, always waiting with bated breath, never getting a good night's sleep. How many of their loved ones would die for this cause? Dumbledore was gone, so was Mad Eye and poor Hedwig, and they were only the deaths they knew about. For all they knew the Burrow could have been a bloodbath and over what? Whether she or Harry or others like them should be allowed to exist? She pondered sometimes -usually at night when her weary mind began to focus on sad truths and she longed for her Mum’s comforting voice- if it would be better if people like her had never existed. Maybe then, Ron’s family would still be together and he wouldn’t look so heartbroken every time she looked at him. Maybe the Knightley’s wouldn’t have gone missing. 

Perhaps their new lifestyle was getting to her. They’d been hiding out here for weeks now, only seeing the sunlight through the windows, never breathing in fresh air, never feeling the rain on their skin, never hearing the laughter and comforting voices of their dear friends and family. It was isolating. They were suddenly all alone in the world. 

“Come here.” Harry said, gesturing her over to him.

Hermione got up and crossed the room to sit beside him instead. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close as she breathed in the freshness of his newly washed jumper. It was a comforting scent so far removed from the dark musk of Draco’s cologne. Harry was her best friend, her first boyfriend, the boy who she'd go to the ends of the earth for. He was her refuge. They hadn’t shared an embrace quite like this in a long time. Not since before they broke up anyway. Normally their hugs were brief, with neither one wanting to make the other feel awkward or uncomfortable. With a pang of longing, Hermione realised she missed this. It felt _good_ to be this close to him. When she gazed up at him, he was smiling that small, awkward smile of his. His eyes were lit with mischief and something else she couldn’t place, though she knew she’d seen it before. Pressed against each other like this, her mind took her back to fifth year and all the nights they spent kissing in the library...before Umbridge implemented all of her ridiculous rules that is. After that they had been forced to sneak away from their dorms, while wearing his invisibility cloak, and hide out in the Room of Requirement just to steal a few moments together. There was a certainty to things back then. With him, anyway. There had never been any real doubt in her mind with Harry. Not until he had kissed Cho at least. While she couldn’t fully forgive him for not telling her the truth right away, she knew he regretted it and that if he could go back and change it he would. He’d told her as much once and there was no denying the honesty in his voice when he’d said it. 

Harry brushed his lips against hers, gentle and tentative, as he wasn’t quite sure how she would respond. The moment his mouth met hers there was no going back. Her hands held his face and pulled him closer, close enough to breathe him into her with just a kiss, where she could keep him with her always. Where she would feel invulnerable, protected, _wanted_. 

Harry fell backwards, bringing her with him until she was lying on top of him on the sofa. There was in intensity to the kiss that there hadn’t been when they were fifteen. A burning need inside of both of them now. Maybe it was the time apart or maybe it was because they were older, with more lust than before, whatever the case the raging hormones her fifteen year old self had felt were nothing compared to this. Harry’s hands were around her waist, bare skin brushed against bare skin, leaving her entire body tingling and yearning for more. He tugged at her top and she smiled as she kissed him. He wanted this too then. 

The Boy-Who-Lived pulled away for a moment to catch his breath,

“Are...you…” _pant_ , “are you sure?”

“Unequivocally.” 

He pulled her jumper up off over her head and threw it on the floor. She did the same with his, before leaning in to kiss him again. Her mouth traced the line of his strong jaw, his stubble tickling her face, and she moved lower and lower until she was kissing his chest. In an attempt to change position, Harry shifted and Hermione lost her balance on the narrow sofa. They fell to the floor with a heavy _thud_ and they didn’t dare move for a moment for fear they may have woken the only other occupant in the house. When it was clear Ron was well and truly out like a light, they laughed quietly together and resumed their impassioned kisses -this time with Harry on top of her. It wasn’t long until the rest of their clothes were discarded and their naked bodies were intertwined. It was clumsy at first, as neither of them really knew what they were doing since it was their first time, but it was never awkward. They were learning together; laughing when it didn’t quite work and moaning hard when it did. It was different to what she was expecting. Less contrived than muggle television made it out to be, more natural and a little painful at first. After the initial discomfort, she was overcome with pleasure. Her body tingled and melted into Harry’s, until she couldn’t discern where one of them began and the other ended. It was all touch and sensation. All heat and longing. 

She watched Harry’s sleeping face only inches from her own. His glasses on the floor beside them and his bare torso peeking out over the blankets they’d grabbed from the ottoman. She smiled to herself and, after a moment of taking in his handsome face, she rolled onto her back. For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt like things might be ok. It wasn’t just the afterglow talking either. It was how Harry made her feel as she lay there with his arm around her. It gave her hope. He was the Boy-Who-Lived. If he could defeat Voldemort when he was only a baby, it only made sense he could do it again -seventeen years later, just as he was becoming a man. 

It was then her eyes found the tapestry again, and her gaze met with the poor depiction of the blonde haired Slytherin. 

They would never have _their_ chance, would they? Her lips would never feel _his_ again, she would never breathe in _his_ scent, she would never see those grey eyes alight with his keen, dry wit, she would never hear _him_ speak her name in that seductively nonchalant way of his again. And if she did see him again, it would be under the worst possible circumstances. 

With a heavy heart, Hermione closed her eyes, knowing that she would see Draco in her dreams at least; for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know! 
> 
> Trust me, Draco/Hermione is endgame and will happen, but I'm also a big Harry/Hermione fan and I genuinely thought they would get together in canon. Also, I think this adds an extra layer to their rivalry -if Hermione is caught in the middle I mean. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think and add a Kudos if you're happy with it.


	5. Bound by Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco returns to Hogwarts and learns why he's been having unusual nightmares. Snape takes him under his wing and teaches him a new kind of magic.

* * *

_I’m lost in dreams and all I know is where I’ve been,_

_Run, love, I’m the truth that you’re afraid of_

* * *

_September_

Relief washed over him as he stepped off the train and trudged up the familiar grounds. Anything -and he meant _anything,_ even Hogwarts- was better than the agonised cries that echoed throughout the Manor, begging for mercy, or the beady eyes behind silver masks, questioning his loyalty. Draco inhaled a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp night air as he ignored the Thestrals on his climb towards the old castle. Gone were the days when he foolishly thought the carriages pulled themselves. Death permeated everything now. From the soil beneath his feet to the howling wind. Whatever reprieve he had once felt was gone in the blink of an eye, eclipsed by the visage of what had happened the last time he was here. 

Grimacing as his steel orbs flickered to the Astronomy Tower, the memories danced behind his eyelids with every flutter of ashen lashes. An assault of flashbacks cut through his vision every time he closed his eyes. He could see himself atop that tower, his face twisted with torment and regret as a bolt of green hit the old man in the chest, knocking him backwards for his lifeless body to fall over the edge. His heart thumped against his ribs like a war drum, his breath hitched and rapid, his limbs cold and numb as the out of body experience took hold. When he came back to himself, he was already inside the confines of the stone walls. 

It felt like years had passed since that night. The halls were much the same as he remembered them, though with much less splendor. Death Eaters didn’t care for decoration or pleasantries; the students were here for the soul purpose of learning the Dark Arts and nothing more. He didn’t listen as Snape, now headmaster, addressed them in the Great Hall with two Death Eaters at every entrance. He didn’t hear Parkinson whispering to him, Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini about how this change was long-overdue. He didn’t even notice when the ‘welcome’ -if you could call it that- was over and all the other students got up to leave for their common room. He sat there, unmoving, his head in his hand, wondering how in the hell he let it come to this. Never was there a moment now that he wasn’t either lost in his self-loathing or consumed with fear. Never could he shake the feeling that there was always someone watching him, waiting in the shadows, listening to his carefully chosen words, waiting patiently for some kind of misstep. The Dark Lord often tried to use Legilimency on him to get inside his head. Thus far Draco had been effective at repelling him, much to the dark wizard’s ire. It wasn’t easy, but he’d learned at a young age that nothing was and he had more at stake than the likes of Potter, who’s mind, he was sure, was like an open book. He had parents to lose, he had friends who couldn’t go into hiding as they were already so closely linked to the Dark Lord, and he had his own life to think about as well. Not to mention the life of a particular young witch he deliberately avoided thinking about. Though she wasn’t exactly free from danger herself, if she was with Potter she was, at least for now, safer than he could ever hope to be. 

It annoyed him no end to even think about it. In the end, Potter always managed to get what Draco wanted, all of it handed to him on a silver bloody platter. He envied him. He had done since the day the git snubbed his friendship in first year, and since he hung around _her_ like a fly to honey. Not that he’d want to be in Potter’s position now. Merlin knows he wouldn’t want to be hunted down by Lord Voldemort. But if there was a way for Potter to get his comeuppance without it destroying the whole Wizarding world, then Draco would welcome it happily. As for now though, Potter, the Order, the uprising...all of these things were this blasted world’s only hope for peace. It was the young Slytherin’s only hope for a normal life again. The fact that his future rested on Potter of all people made his skin crawl. Funny little twist of fate that, wasn’t it? Anyone would think the great cosmos were trying to teach him a lesson in humility. 

“Lost in thought, are we Malfoy?”

He looked up to find his new headmaster standing over him and the Great Hall deserted. 

How long had he sat here after the others left? Five minutes? Ten, perhaps? Looking out at the twilight evening, he gathered it was more like twenty. It was still a little light when they were called to the hall for attendance and introduction of the new first years -poor sods, coming here when it was like this- and new professors, most of which were cold, merciless killers. And in the time the meeting had taken place and the evening meal had been brought out and eaten by hungry students, night had begun to fall. It took the sky from a cloudy but otherwise bright grey, to a dark and hazy Cornish-Pixie blue. All while he sat, mulling over his new life. 

“Sorry, Headmaster.” He mumbled, the words uncharacteristically without sarcasm. 

Draco got to his feet and was about to leave with his black, leather satchel in hand when Snape spoke,

“Your mother has asked me to speak to you. Alone.” 

“I don’t think that’s possible anymore, do you?” His tone came out more embittered than he’d meant to let on, his venom barely concealed. 

Snape’s mouth curled into a tight smirk,

“Follow me.” 

With that, he turned suddenly, his black robes billowing out behind him. His steps were quick and Draco struggled to keep up, even with long strides he was trailing behind him by as much as seven or eight feet. His limbs were too weak to carry him any faster. They seemed to walk forever, down long corridors and up the unpredictable staircases. Draco quickly found himself tiring and his vision blurring a little, he wished now he’d eaten something at dinner, or on the train, or at breakfast. His stomach growled as if on cue. 

He’d have to remember to at least bring an apple with him next time, just something small that he could keep down and that would give him energy. 

Eventually they came to a small, stone spiral staircase that led to another small room, an office of sorts full of textbooks and papers. It wasn’t the Headmaster’s office and it wasn’t big enough to belong to that of another professor either, but looked rather like a place used more for storage than anything else. Snape tapped on the bare brick wall with his wand once and within a minute the door to the Room of Requirement appeared. The Headmaster opened the door and walked in without a word, leaving Draco to follow and close it behind him. He did, but not before scanning the room behind him carefully for any signs they’d been followed. This time the room presented itself as a windowless classroom, full of potion vials sitting on shelves, wooden desks lined in a row, and books and ancient magical objects sealed away in glass display cabinets. 

“And what if someone else needs the Room of Requirement? You do know they’ll be able to use it as well and see and hear everything?” he asked, remembering the time he’d caught Potter kissing the Chang girl. 

It was funny as it hadn’t appeared for him when he’d wanted to catch Potter and the rest of that ridiculous ‘Dumbledore’s Army’, but it had appeared for him when he was upset and angry, and needed a quiet place to think. It made him wonder; had he been in dire need of the room any other time, would it have appeared? Would he have been able to spy on the DA then? Or did the room have some way of sensing the intention of a person, and if so, had it refused to appear for him then because he’d wanted it for the wrong reasons? Whatever the case, having been able to enter the room then and catch Potter in his infidelity, Draco wasn’t too convinced that the room was safe from infiltration. 

The Headmaster narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion, no doubt wondering how the boy knew this, and uttered an incantation Draco had never heard before. A blast of grey-white light filled the room and a strong, gust of wind passed through them both with a loud _whoosh_ , only to be gone a moment later. 

“Very good, Malfoy. That’s why a privacy charm is needed. Now if someone were to enter, they would neither see nor hear us and believe that they were in fact alone.” 

Draco didn’t quite trust this and scanned the room again with his icy grey eyes, searching the shadows, 

“Narcissa has come to me because she’s concerned you’ve been dabbling in a peculiar kind of magic.” his eyes glanced down to the ring on Draco’s finger and immediately the boy stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, “Bonding magic, to be precise.” 

He was furious. How could his mother possibly know this with one measly look at his ring?! It had slipped past everyone else, even the Dark Lord, and gone completely undetected for months now. There was no way she could have found out so easily! What exactly was she intending to do with this information? Did she know what the spell had been for or _who_ for that matter? He had been so careful, leaving nothing behind in case prying eyes found them. He’d burned the books he learned the magic from, destroyed all the remaining ingredients he’d collected to make it work. He’d done everything right. But somehow...somehow she’d figured it out. Surely if she knew this magic then other Death Eaters could too, and if they did and they could recognise it as easily as she had, then they were in even more grave danger than he first thought. His heart was pounding again, heavy in his chest as it beat faster and faster. His control over his features waned. 

“What’s it to you, anyway?!” he spat, “Mother been snooping through my things, has she?”

“Your dear mother did no such thing. She simply recognises the magic from a time when she used it years ago.” 

“And what would Mother need with a binding spell?” 

“When you were young, Lucius was often gone for months on dangerous missions the Dark Lord had given him. She bound herself to him with a similar trinket, as a declaration of her love and...as a way for him to draw strength from her magic should he need it.” 

“You mean...I can lend my magic with...with this?” He held his hand up now, staring at the ring, “How?” 

Snape rolled his eyes, “Don’t be a fool! Your mother spent decades studying this kind of magic. You’ve clearly spent less than a year on it. While she could -and indeed did- lend hers to your father on occasion, you have done little more than link gems and meld your mind with Miss Granger.”

Draco shook his head and paced the room. 

“What do you mean I’ve melded my mind?!” He snapped, confused, then a thought dawned on him, “Wait! You mean I can talk with her? Using my mind? Is that possible?” 

Snape let out an exasperated sigh, 

“No, you can’t use _this_ to communicate with her with your mind. Don’t be absurd! I merely mean you -in your ignorance and haste- have used the wrong kind of spell and have bound not just the stones, but your minds as well. You will find you may feel _her_ feelings or experience _her_ dreams, _her_ fear and she may in turn experience yours also...all while you both wear the stones.” 

“And what about pain? Would she feel that?” 

“Perhaps…” he dragged out the word in that slow drawl of his, “It’s hard to know.”

_Shit!_

Draco ran a hand through his hair. He’d thought binding the two gems would merely help him keep an eye on her, but if he’d bound them in some other way...if she could feel pain inflicted upon him, feel his fears...then really all he was doing was hurting her. Literally. Every beating and every Cruciatus curse inflicted upon him may have been passed on to her. Worst of all she wouldn’t have a clue what was happening. Actually, now that he thought about it, he wouldn’t put it past her to have it all figured out by now. She was too clever for her own good. 

“Have you experienced anything...unusual?” Snape asked, 

He gave a half-hearted shrug, “Just dreams...Nightmares actually.”

Snape nodded, “And in these dreams, what happens?” 

The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying him for the words about to leave his mouth, 

“Usually I’m the one to kill her, and her family, her friends, Potter...other times it’s Aunt Bella...or Father, Dolohov...any of the others.” His voice was shaking now, as if by saying it out loud made it all the more likely to happen, “I taunt her...tell her that I enjoy it...that it’s what I want. It’s not true of course. It’s the last thing I want.” 

The Headmaster pursed his lips, 

“That will likely be Miss Granger’s fear and her dreams at play.”

“Then she’s afraid of me.” Draco sank into the nearest seat, his hand over his mouth, half in disbelief and half in defeat. His chest was tight and felt empty. Hollow. Like a hole had been punched right through him. 

“You’re aligned with the very group that threatens her existence, Malfoy. I would think her a fool if she wasn’t afraid.”

Draco slammed his fist against the desk and ground his teeth, glaring up at his old professor who gazed back with little sympathy. Though he would never have pegged his godfather for his empathy, he would have thought he could have managed some compassion at least. The glum, old git must have been in love once! Given that he was unmarried and downright bitter, Draco presumed it must have endly badly. In which case, he would have known how his godson felt, but his face gave nothing away. He loomed over him, emotionless and distant as ever. 

“Is there a way I could get a message to her...using Legilimency or something?” Draco kept his eyes on the tattered oak desk in front of him, “I need to talk to her. Explain myself.” 

“I did not take the Unbreakable Vow, twice I might add, for you to go out of your way to endanger yourself and your family in order to fraternise with Miss Granger.” Snape’s tone was hard and cold, like wrought iron. 

The tiny gem began to hiss and Draco’s jaw clenched. From the looks of it, she was being chased again. It had been quiet for weeks. He’d imagined she was holed up somewhere with Potter and Weasley, hiding out. He couldn’t fathom where though as near every damned place was overrun with Death Eaters. They must have been found out, he realised quickly. He wondered what could have happened, what could have drawn attention to them. No-one had had any leads for more than two months now. 

“Do you think…?” Draco gulped, “Do you think they’ve found them?” 

Snape gave a look of concern, “Let’s hope not.” He said, then he closed his eyes for a moment, a look of intense concentration on his face, “They’re in the Ministry….Yaxley is on their tail.”

It was evident he’d gone inside the mind of one of the trio. He didn’t need to know which, it didn’t matter. They were all equally as open as each other. Not one of them had learned how to conceal their true thoughts. 

“What?!” Draco stood, his chest rising and falling with quick, sharp, anxious breaths, “What the hell is she doing in the bloody Ministry?! Does she have a death wish?!” 

The ring’s hissing was more pronounced now. Yaxley wasn’t the type to let up easily. Draco felt his guts churn, 

“What’s happening?!” He asked Snape, his voice weak,

“They’ve Disapparated. But Yaxley has hold of Weasley…” 

Draco loosened the buttons on his white school shirt, as if it would somehow help with the tightness in his chest or the lump in his throat. As if the shirt itself had been choking him, and not his fear. Then the hissing eased and the faint gleam returned. But it made no difference to his erratic heartbeat or heavy breathing, 

“They’re safe. Miss Granger has brought them to the woods.” 

Draco took a long, calming breath, and nodded. _It’s alright._ He told himself. _She’s alright._ It was always the same. Every time the old potions professor used his talent for Legilimency to spy on the trio, it was always up to her to save them. Neither Potter nor Weasley ever did much to get them out of the trouble they’d landed themselves. Always her. He didn’t quite know how to feel about it. There was always a mixture of emotions when he learned from Snape how they had escaped each time. Sometimes he was proud; she was so clever, always knowing the right spells or where to go when they were once again on the run. Other times he was angry; if it was all up to her to keep them safe, then who was protecting her? What were those two imbeciles even doing?! Were they daydreaming about the good old days while she did everything to keep them alive? But underneath all the pride and the pent up rage, he was afraid. Afraid that eventually she would run out of ideas and there would be nowhere for her to go, no more spells, no more potions. Just her and the enemy. 

“If...it would help ease your mind…in these dark times, I could teach you to use Cleiromency in order for you to communicate freely with those you trust. Your mother and I, for example.”

Draco looked at him with a frown, 

“Cleiromency?” 

“Much like Legilimency and Occlumency, however this talent actually allows you to communicate with another through thought alone. You will not be able to read a person’s mind however, merely exchange messages.”

The boy licked his lips at the mere thought of what it would allow him to do. He could warn her. Feed her information to keep her one step ahead at all times. He could talk freely with his mother, without fear of being overheard and caught. He could be himself again. It was tantalising. 

“However, if I teach you this, I would ask that you do not attempt to communicate with Miss Granger. The Dark Lord is more powerful than you think and if he learns you’ve been Cleiromencing with a muggle-born...you, your parents and Miss Granger will all die. As I’ve made the Vow to protect you, I cannot allow this.” 

“Fair enough.” Draco muttered. “How does it work?”

Snape summoned a book from one of the many glass cabinets in the room. The book opened by itself and pages turned in a blur until it landed on the one he needed. He began reading from the book, explaining the many techniques to the young Malfoy. As with the other two abilities, it would require the user to clear their mind, but it was also quite different from either Legilimency or Occlumency. The first of those two relied on focusing on the person in question, whose mind the user wanted to invade, and using a connection with them to allow them to enter the innermost layers of their mind. Only those with an innate gift for understanding the nature and inner workings of others could really excel in this though. Draco had never fully understood how to use Legilimency. His only explanation for this was because he found it difficult to connect with most people. He could find their weaknesses, yes, pick them apart and use them against them, but he didn’t really comprehend much else of those around him. Not their emotions, not their thinking and certainly not their behaviour. A result of a lifetime of mistrusting everyone around him. 

Occlumency on the other hand was one of his most useful talents. In this, he was extremely powerful. 

Keeping people out was always something he was good at. 

He’d learned from a young age how to tune out others, to turn off his emotions and purge his mind of any thoughts that troubled him. In fact, he was four the first time he had done this. After he had spotted a stuffed rabbit toy in one of the shop windows in Diagon Alley. He’d begged his father for the toy for his birthday, having fallen in love with its fluffy, floppy ears and cute little button nose. Lucius rebuffed him of course. He refused to buy his son the rabbit, telling him not only was it useless, but also showed him to be weak. No son of Lucius’ would grow to be a ‘nancy boy’ as he put it. The lashings had come when Draco had cried himself to sleep for two nights in a row and Lucius decided enough was enough. After that, he learned it was best to keep quiet and repress his emotions, at least then he could avoid his father’s wrath. The Slytherin sneered at the memory. It was the earliest he could recall. He didn’t remember anything else before that, but Narcissa had told him that before that particular incident he was such a loving and open little boy, always sharing his thoughts and dreams with her. His father had broken him as a person, changed him irrevocably and rendered him unable to allow himself to truly feel. 

That was until _she_ came along and breathed new life into him again. When they met it was like coming up for air after being submerged in dark, murky waters for so long. 

_“I’m Hermione Granger.” She said, standing in the doorway to his cabin,_

_Her hair was wild. Utterly ridiculous. And her Cupid bow lips were pressed into a hard line as her chocolate gaze flickered from him to Goyle, Crabbe and Parkinson. Goyle was talking to Crabbe, recounting a tale of how he’d practiced many hexes and on his house-elf over the summer. Crabbe had his face buried in Cauldron Cakes and Licorice Wands with crumbs all over his once fresh robes. Finally Parkinson was glaring daggers at the new girl. Granger scrunched her nose in distaste at the three, her pretty features only settling to a haughty smile as her eyes landed back on Draco._

_It was clear she thought she and him were better than the other occupants in his cabin. And she would be right. They were far better._

_He stood and made his way over to her, sticking his hand out to shake._

_“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”_

_The moment her hand cupped his, warmth coursed through him, melting the frigid winter of his untouchable heart and dulling the lonely ache of his bones that cried for comfort._

_"I'm looking for a toad. A boy named Neville has lost one. You haven't seen it, have you?"_

Draco pushed the memory back, cursing himself for ever allowing it to the forefront of his mind in such perilous times. Keeping the Dark Lord out of his head was no easy feat, but he had to do it. He had to bury his emotions to protect them. He had been keeping people out for thirteen years and Snape had taught him Occlumency after the end of fifth year when he was first given the Dark Mark. It was the one advantage he had over the Dark Lord and others; no one could know Draco unless he wanted them to. 

Cleiromency was like Legilimency in many ways, and required intense focus and a connection with the person in question, but it also required a clear mind like Occlumency, _and_ conjuring an intense emotion that linked the user to the person whose mind they were trying to connect with. This was the part he found the most trying, and Snape quickly became frustrated with him. The Headmaster told the Slytherin that he needed to allow himself to feel, without trying to rationalise or intellectualise his feelings, without trying to justify them to himself as this would only cloud his mind and make this more difficult. Draco couldn’t grasp this concept. He _had_ to think about his feelings. He couldn’t just let them present themselves freely. In case they chose to control him. In case it made him loosen his grip on them. He would always _think_ first and _feel_ later. 

“Again!” Snape commanded, “We will try once more. After that you may leave.” 

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. His head throbbed, pounding like he'd been hitting it off a brick wall for the last two hours. He needed to eat and get some rest, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep without first trying.

_I just need to get this. Then I can help her. I just need to focus._

“Clear your mind.” Snape said in a slow monotone, “Conjure an emotion. A powerful one. Use that to connect with a person of your choosing -not Miss Granger.” 

The blonde closed his eyes and purged any thoughts from his mind, willing himself to feel whatever it was he needed to in order to get inside his mother’s head. He chose Narcissa because she was the only one he trusted enough that he felt the most for besides the Gryffindor girl. Snape had also told him she was quite gifted at Cleiromency and so would be not only able to hear him but able to reply as well. With his mind quiet, he allowed himself to feel how he felt deep down whenever his mother was close; compassion, comfort, love. Then he saw her image in his mind. At first he feared he’d failed and clouded his mind with thoughts of her, but then he noticed the images were of her now, as she was, sitting in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor and reading a book while his father and Aunt Bella argued over something he couldn’t quite make out. He watched from her mind as she read the words of her book, _The Dangers of Mudbloods and How to Spot One_. He rolled his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Draco allowed himself to think again, but only in order to talk to her, one mind to another. 

_Mother? Can you hear me? It’s Draco._

He watched through her mind’s eye as she dropped the book in surprise. 

_Draco…? How are you…? They don’t teach this in Hogwarts. Where did you learn this?_

It was working! He couldn’t believe he’d managed to do it. A smile traced his lips. They would be able to share their thoughts now, have real, genuine conversations again. Even before the Dark Lord had returned, Draco feared being fully honest with his mother because of Lucius’ foul temper. He’d lost so much precious time with her over the years. Time he could have used to really get to know her, and even himself, but didn’t out of fear of looking weak. This could change all of that. 

_Snape is teaching me, but no one can know. I need you to keep it quiet._

_Very well, Draco. I take it he’s spoken to you abou-_

He opened his eyes in an instant and stumbled backwards, the light from the room, and his already thumping migraine, making him all the more dizzy than he was before. 

“I lost her.” He said. 

“Then that’s enough for today, Malfoy.” Snape replied, “You may return to your quarters. Lessons will resume again tomorrow. For now, get some rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for staying with this story for so long. I know things are a bit slow between D/H atm but that's because of the war, things will pick up after the Malfoy Manor chapter. 
> 
> Also in this Snape is the one who offers to teach Draco Occlumency because he knows of his relationship with Hermione. Originally I still had it as Bellatrix but then I realised she'd learn of everything that had happened between them and would probably either kill Draco or cast him out at best. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think. I've done my best to fix mistakes/grammatical errors but there still might be a few as I don't have a beta and this is all me so if you point them out I'll be happy to go back and fix them.


	6. The Locket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione reminisces over Draco and shows Harry a magical item she was given by a mysterious stranger. Ron is jealous of their closeness -feeling more alone than every without his family- and all three are concerned when the Brightest-Witch-of-Her-Age starts hearing voices.

* * *

_ I finally sat alone, pitch black, flesh and bone,  _

_ Couldn’t believe that you were gone _

* * *

The wind whipped against her cheeks, sharp like a blade. Shivering, she pulled the blanket closer around herself and sat with her back against the tree, the leaves cold and damp beneath her. What little heat the campfire provided wasn’t enough to relieve her from the fierce chill of the autumn night. Hermione longed for the warmth and comfort of the old Black family home, but they couldn’t go back. 

They’d escaped the Ministry by the skin of their teeth. Yaxley had been on their tail the entire way as they made their escape, locket in hand. 

They learned quickly the innocent-looking necklace played with their minds and their emotions. Harry was on edge all the time when he wore it, snapping at her and losing his temper over the most trivial of things. Ron was much the same, though he was somewhat less vocal than Harry -presumably because he was still weak and mostly bedridden. Ron would sulk in his bunk when he had it on him. His usually bright blue eyes dark, dreary pools as he glared at nothing in particular, listening to the radio day and night and muttering to himself about her and Harry. Most of the time she couldn’t make out what he was saying as his voice was so low, a barely audible gruff in the distance. But when she could hear him it was always that Harry didn’t know what he was doing, that he was traipsing them all over England while Ron’s family was in danger, calling him an ‘arrogant prat’ and the ‘bloody chosen one’. He was equally harsh on her too, mumbling to himself under his breath that she was a ‘know it all’ and yet somehow she made a mess of everything. Hermione told herself to ignore them both when they were like this. After all, it wasn’t really the boys speaking, but rather the piece of Voldemort’s soul encased in the Horcrux playing on their fears and doubts. No matter how many times she told herself to brush it off, underneath she  _ was _ hurt by it all. Not so much by their words, more by their constant fighting. They were never like this normally. Even at their worst they always found a way to work together. Not this time. Now they were at each other’s throats day and night. This damned locket was tearing them apart and they wouldn’t be able to do this without each other. Hermione feared if it went on much longer, this horrible bloody locket would be the death of their friendship.

The Horcrux amplified the worst of the wearer. For Harry that meant defensiveness and anger, for Ron frustration and jealousy, and for Hermione it was sadness and self-doubt. It crept up on her gradually throughout the day, growing more and more inside her with each passing hour, until come nightfall she would feel completely alone and worthless. She sat there with her book on her lap, unable to focus on the words in front of her as she thought about what a failure she was. She had let them all down. The Polyjuice potion had worn off too quickly and she hadn’t thought to make a second batch -which could have saved them all this trouble. That one mistake alone resulted in their only remaining safe house being found out Ron almost _ dying  _ during their escape. They couldn’t move camp until he was at least well enough to walk again. They were trapped here in the dark woods, and it was all thanks to her carelessness. 

_ I don’t deserve to be a witch.  _ She thought, bitterly.  _ I’m useless. The boys would be better off without me. _

Harry and Ron were inside the tent sleeping, as it was her turn to keep watch tonight. Not that she minded, she preferred to be awake most days now anyway. Resting her head on her knees, she peered out into the darkness and let out a sigh. Her skin crawled with self-loathing while the locket whispered all of her worst fears to her. 

Tearing a couple of pages from her notebook, the young witch clumsily folded the parchment best as she could into little birds and charmed them to life with a wave of her wand. They fluttered above her, singing sweetly and reminding her of the blonde haired Slytherin. She never did manage to master origami like him, regardless of how often he tried to teach her. Her birds were always poorly folded, a little more crooked than his, flying haphazardly as a result. 

_ Hermione sniffled and wiped more snot on the sleeve of her once-white school shirt. _

_ Every time her hand met with her face it made her cringe. All she could feel was the large, ugly mounds protruding out of her skin. Someone had spiked her drink in Hogsmeade with a Fungi-Face potion and as such her entire face was covered in giant, ugly, grey and brown mushrooms.  _

_ The day had been wonderful up until that point -with Viktor taking her ice skating on the frozen lake and treating her to a decadent hot chocolate afterwards- but now she was hiding out here in the Shrieking Shack until the blooming potion wore off. In her anger she had blasted a hole through the side of the dilapidated house and sat on the stairs in the hallway crying ever since.  _

_ “W-what the hell are you doing here?!” Asked the familiar voice with a quiver, as he poked his head through the large hole in the wall, “Isn’t this place haunted?”  _

_ “No.” Hermione kept her head down, her hair hiding her face, her hands in her lap, “That’s a myth. A werewolf used to come here every full moon to turn. That’s what the screams were. There were never any ghosts.” _

_ “Huh,” Draco replied, much calmer now as he climbed through the makeshift entrance, “what’s wrong with you anyway? Krum being a prat?” His tone was harsh -irritated- and she knew it was because he thought her beau was the cause of her tears, not her hideous face.  _

_ Hermione shook her head, hair whipping her cheeks,  _

_ “Go back to Hogsmeade, Malfoy. Have fun. No point wasting your time out here with me.”  _

_ He scoffed at that,  _

_ “Let me guess  _ you _ think  _ I _ don’t want to be here.  _ You _ think  _ I _ couldn’t possibly want to hang out with you. Even after our truce. Well, guess what, Granger,  _ you _ would be wrong. There’s a first for everything.”  _

_ “I just want to be left alone.”  _

_ Hermione kept her eyes on the floor, her head turned away from him so he wouldn’t see how utterly ghastly she looked. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her like this, _

_ “Yeah, well, tough luck. You’re upset so I’m staying. Now are you going to bother to look at me or what?!” _

_ For some reason, she did what he wanted and turned to look at him. Hesitantly lifting her head until her thick, unruly hair fell back from her face. Draco’s nostrils flared at the sight of her and his jaw clenched tight,  _

_ “Who did it?” He asked, through gritted teeth,  _

_ “I don’t know. Think it might have been Parkinson or Van Hegna. There was a group of Slytherin girls by our table in the Three Broomsticks. They were laughing and watching me before it happened.”  _

_ “Horrible little gremlins those two! They’ll pay for this.” He snarled, then a thought crossed his face, “Wait, where’s Potter and Weaslebee? Thought  _ they’d _ at least make sure you were alright.”  _

_ “I was with Viktor. Alone. We were on a date and I-I had to run off and leave him when I realised what was happening.” She chewed her lip and buried her face in her hands, “He’s going to hate me. Or worse, think I’m an idiot.”  _

_ Draco sighed and made his way over to sit down on the stairs beside her,  _

_ “He’s not going to think you’re an idiot -if he does he’s the idiot. Just tell him you felt ill or whatever. Doubt that big Bulgarian oaf will put two and two together anyway.”  _

_ Hermione couldn’t help but glare at him. Even if he was trying to be helpful, he didn’t need to go and insult the boy she was dating in the process. Upon seeing her expression, Draco pulled a face in reply,  _

_ “I was only kidding.” He muttered, “Kind of. Not really.”  _

_ She huffed and shoved him with her shoulder to let him know how annoying he was being. Much to her dismay, not only did he not take the hint that he shouldn’t be making jokes about Viktor’s intelligence -especially when he barely knew him!- but he actually stifled a laugh. As if the whole situation was hilariously funny,  _

_ “What?!” She demanded, furious now.  _

_ Draco smoothed his features enough to give her a serious look and gestured for her to move,  _

_ “Move over a little, would you? I haven’t got mushroom.”  _

_ With that he burst out laughing. Hermione stared at him in horror, her mouth agape. He hadn’t really made that joke, had he? Before she knew it a stifled giggle escaped her, and soon she found herself laughing wholeheartedly as well. After a while, her face hurt and Draco even had tears in his eyes as he clutched his stomach. He leaned back to rest his elbows on the stairs behind him, a triumphant look on his face,  _

_ “I hate you, Draco Malfoy.” She said, with a smile,  _

_ “No, you don’t.” He winked, “You love me, Granger. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”  _

_ Hermione scoffed, looking at him in disbelief,  _

_ “God, you are full of yourself, aren’t you?” _

_ He raised his eyebrows at her in a nonchalant way and sat up straight again, reaching into his black, leather satchel to pull out a notebook. He opened it onto an empty page and tore the parchment from its bind. Hermione watched his fingers gracefully fold the paper diagonally one way, then again the other way creating an inverted triangle. Then he folded the top half of the paper down on itself again, his movements twisting the parchment this way and that until he’d made a bird. With the paper creature in one hand, he pulled out his wand from his back pocket with the other,  _

_ “Vitae Avemio.”  _

_ The bird came to life in an instant, flapping its paper wings and flying in circles around their heads as it chirped happily. Hermione gasped and a grin spread across her face as she watched the pretty little creature,  _

_ “Thought that might cheer you up.” He said, _

_ “How did you do that?” _

_ Draco frowned,  _

_ “Granger, that’s a second year charm. Don’t you already know that?” _

_ “Not that, you numpty.” She rolled her eyes, “The paper. How did you make it into that little bird?”  _

_ “Oh,” he realised, “here I’ll show you. It’s easy.” _

_ He tore out two more pages and handed one to her, then he made her copy his movements. Occasionally he would reach across and make the folds for her when they weren’t quite right. Hermione could feel her cheeks getting hot from frustration as her fingers fumbled over the paper. By the end of it they had made thirteen birds between them, all now with flying around their heads or exploring the empty shack of their own accord,  _

_ “Mine are awful compared to yours.” Hermione huffed after an hour of trying,  _

_ “You’re being dramatic. They’re not awful. Anyway, you’ll get there. It takes time.”  _

_ She gave him a look to say ‘yeah, right’ and as she did she noticed a drawing in the book she hadn’t seen before. Most of what she’d seen in his little book were doodles of Harry falling off his broom or getting hit in the face with a Bludger. Really mean stuff that she always scolded him for. But this was different. The charcoal drawing was of a boy ripping himself in two. On one side of his torn face his features were devoid of all emotion, his mouth pressed into a hard line. On the other side of the tear, his face was painted into a skull and his expression dark and angry. In the middle there was another face, younger, more child-like. The third face was screaming and crying, as if trying to break free of the other two overpowering him.  _

_ Draco closed the book the moment he realised what she’d seen,  _

_ “It’s duality.” He mumbled, begrudgingly, knowing she would ask either way, “Most people...they think you’re either this or that; good or bad, happy or miserable, cocky or afraid. I think people can be both. Not just different things at different times. But everything all at once. All the time. Know what I mean?”  _

_ Hermione nodded,  _

_ “A walking contradiction.”  _

_ “Right. Exactly.” He breathed, relieved that she understood.  _

_ “It’s very clever. Rather thought-provoking.”  _

_ “Don’t tell anyone about it.”  _

_ It was his turn to stare at his feet, hiding his face from her. Hermione reached out and held his hand, her skin tingled when met with his, and when he glanced up again there was something in his expression she couldn’t place. His mouth was turned up at the corners slightly and his pupils had dilated, making his grey eyes look darker, less cold and more alluring,  _

_ “You know I won’t.” She replied, her cheeks flushed from the odd look he was giving her.  _

_ Hermione pulled her hand away and Draco leaned back on the stairs again, staring up at their paper birds,  _

_ “It’s going down a little.” He nodded towards her, meaning her fungi-covered features, “Probably another hour before it wears off though.”  _

_ “What?! We’ll miss the carriages!”  _

_ He laughed,  _

_ “We’ll just have to walk back then. Won’t be that bad. Everyone will be gone by the time we’re ready to leave. Just means we get more time together.” _

_ She relaxed at that. He was right. They hadn’t had this much time together in years and without everyone else around, they could just be themselves. They wouldn’t have to pretend they hated each other,  _

_ “Let’s play a game.” He said, cocking his head to the side, “Ever heard of two truths and a lie?”  _

_ “Of course I have. But knowing you, you’ll just cheat anyway.”  _

_ “I promise I won’t. Though I know you’re a terrible liar so I probably will win. Which is precisely why it’ll be fun.”  _

_ “Then why should I play?” _

_ “Because if you don’t I’ll think it’s because you’re afraid. And you’d absolutely loathe that. Besides we can get to know each other better. Missed out on a lot these two years what with falling out and all.”  _

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice broke her from the memory. His brow was knit as he studied her face. He was holding a large pile of firewood and shivering against the cold, “Are you ok?” 

She nodded, blinking away tears,

“Lost in thought.” She mumbled as she climbed to her feet, 

“I couldn’t see any more Snatchers when I was out there. But I still think we need to move.” 

“Harry, Ron’s not well enough. Even if we walk he’ll be pushing it.” 

The Boy-Who-Lived sighed, 

“Well, we can’t stay here. In case they come back.”

“Alright. Fine.” Hermione replied in a huff, she didn’t want to argue with him tonight. She’d had enough of arguing and felt bad enough already. 

“Hey…” Harry said, cupping her face with one hand, the firewood tucked under one arm, “I’m not having a go. I just don’t want us getting caught, that’s all.”

Her face softened, 

“I know. I’m sorry. Come on, let’s go find Ron.”

As they arrived back at the tent, they found Ron poking his head out from beneath the ivory fabric to see the two friends making their way over to him. His face was pulled into a scowl and his eyes were puffy and rimmed with dark circles from restless nights. He had a five o’clock shadow and his arm was strapped in a makeshift sling, 

“What’s all this about, then?” Ron asked, looking from Harry to Hermione and back again,

“There’s Snatchers roaming the woods.” Harry explained, “We’ll have to find someplace else to stay. I say we get moving first thing tomorrow.”

Ron shook his head,

“Not that. I mean, you two. Always sneaking off into the woods together.”

Hermione frowned, “Ron...we’re keeping watch!”

He rolled his eyes at her and scoffed, 

“More like keeping secrets. Wouldn’t be the first bloody time.” He muttered and she knew exactly what he meant. 

He meant her friendship and on-again-off-again romance with Draco. She couldn’t believe he was still holding that against her or that he was bringing it up at a time like this. Furious, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, an indigent look on her face, 

“Really, Ronald?” It was her turn to scoff now, “ _ That’s _ where this is coming from? Well, go on! Tell us what else is on your mind!”

“Alright, then. I’m beginning to think you two don’t need me; you’re always going off together, mulling things over together, whispering together. I’m just a third wheel, right? Well, don’t let me ruin your bloody honeymoon!” 

“Ron. That’s not fair.” Harry took a step closer to the two, ready to break up a fight if one broke out. They were all aware Ron would never hit Hermione, she was a girl and Ron was raised by Mrs Weasley after all...but Hermione, well, she might very well hit him if he provoked her enough. 

“Honeymoon?!  _ Honeymoon! _ ” Hermione was livid, “Oh yes, Ronald!” She gestured at the dreary woods around them, her tone scathingly sarcastic, “This is  _ exactly _ what I wanted!”

“Come on, guys!” Harry’s voice cut in, 

“We’re meant to be hunting Horcruxes, not having a bloody romantic getaway!” Ron snapped, “My family are God knows where and you guys are more concerned with sticking your tongues down each other’s throat!” 

Hermione gave him a look of disgust and pushed past him on her way to the tent, 

”You know what to do then, don’t you? Make yourself useful if you feel that way and keep watch!” Was all she said before she went inside and crawled into her little bed. 

She could hear the two boys voices arguing in whispers as she pulled the covers up to her chest. Her pretty face was twisted into an angry frown and childish pout as she listened to the two boys outside the tent. Harry was trying desperately to make Ron understand that his and her relationship didn’t undermine his friendship and it didn’t mean they didn’t need him. Ron, however, was having none of it and firmly believed the two of them resented his presence. It wasn’t just the locket getting to them. It was everything. It was not knowing if anyone else was ok. It was the deafening quiet without the ruckus and idle conversation of either the Burrow or Hogwarts, it was the not knowing how or if they were going to survive this. It was then Hermione remembered something. With a wave of her wand and a murmured  _ Accio,  _ she summoned her little, beaded bag to her and reached inside. Sure enough, there it was. She rolled the glass ball around her fingers and watched as the gold dust inside shimmered and shifted. 

The Witch’s Eye -as Giovanni Eckhard had called it- was a little piece of black magic that allowed the user to peer into the future at the cost of their soul. The man had never told her exactly what was supposed to happen to the soul once the glass was smashed and the future revealed. However using it was out of the question if the books were anything to go by. 

“‘Mione?” Harry’s voice broke her from her thoughts. 

He came into the tent and sat down on the floor with his legs crossed, 

“What is that?” He asked, 

“Nothing!” she said and went to stuff it back into the bag, but Harry was too quick and snatched it from her grip,

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” He pulled a bewildered face as he looked it over and tapped on the glass, then a thought crossed his mind and his face fell a little, “This another gift of his?” 

Harry was careful not to say Draco’s name nowadays, but whether it was for her benefit, as he knew she didn’t want to hear it, or because  _ he _ didn’t want to speak it, out of his own hatred for the boy, Hermione couldn’t tell. 

She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and shifted uncomfortably at the thought of the Slytherin with whom she had shared a painful goodbye many months ago, 

“ _ No. _ It was given to me by Giovanni Spindlewick Eckhard. The brother of Alderan Fearwood Eckhard. You know the one locked up in Azkaban? Well, he gave it to me while I was waiting for the train before I came to meet you at the Dursleys.” 

Harry looked up at her then, his green eyes bright with interest, 

“What is it?”

“Apparently it’s a Witch’s Eye. I don’t know why he gave it to me though.”

“What does it do?” 

Hermione shrugged and got out of bed to sit closer to him on the floor. She reached into her bag and pulled out a bundle of books on dark magic. She plucked one with a black leather cover embellished with a pattern -reminiscent of purple tendrils of smoke. The title read  _ Secrets of the Darkest Art.  _ Hermione opened it onto a page about two thirds of the way through the book, in the cursed items section, which showed an ink drawing of the glass ball with the heading  _ The Witch’s Eye _ . Then she began to read the paragraph aloud to him;

“The Witch’s Eye -or the Eye of the Wretched as it’s sometimes called- is a magical item of immense power which can give the user the ability to see the future. However the Eye is incredibly temperamental and will only lend its vactic powers to those who have mastered it. Many have opened the Eye and tried to use it, but alas as they were deemed unworthy by it they faced a horrifying and painful death. The Eye was created by ancient dark magic and in order to master this cursed item, one must first commit the most heinous act; murder of the innocent.” 

Hermione closed the book and looked up at him. Harry’s gaze was focused not on her, but on the glass ball as he rolled it in his palm. After a moment, he set it down on the ground, nudged it towards her with his foot, and rested his elbows on his knees. 

“Right, well, obviously we can’t use it then.” Harry said, “Why would he even give that to you?”

“I don’t know. At first I thought it might have been a trick. But then I read this and now...I have no idea really.”

“Does it tell you anything else about it? Maybe there’s another way to master it.” 

“I doubt it. And anyway the page is missing.” She held up the book to find the torn out page, “Somebody else got to it before we did.” 

“Dumbledore maybe?” Harry offered, “Maybe he meant to teach us about this before he died. Maybe there’s a link between the Eye and the Horcruxes? And that’s why Giovanni gave it to you. He knew we’d need it.” 

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, “It’s a bit far fetched, don’t you think? The whole thing is very odd. Whatever the case we can’t use it unless we learn more about it.” 

Hermione plucked up the little glass sphere, wrapped it tightly in a scarf to protect it and tucked it back into her little beaded bag. Afterward she shifted over to Harry and rested her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her and hugged her close. She wanted to ask him about Ron, but she didn’t. Things were tense enough as they were between the trio and if Ron heard them talking about him in the tent, regardless of what it was they said, he would no doubt take it as an affront against him. It was better to wait until either the auburn-haired boy was asleep or until things were better between them. Once they had moved and found a new camp, safe from Snatchers, and they had found a way to destroy the locket, once they had found another Horcrux and were making at least some progress in killing all parts of Voldemort’s soul, once they were all a bit less on edge. Then she would ask Harry what they were to do about their friend, who’s loneliness and worry for his family, friends and girlfriend was beginning to push him over the edge.

Harry pulled away from her and held out his hand,

“I’ll take over for now.” He said and she knew he meant the locket. 

Hermione realised she was crying again. She had done that a lot tonight, more than she usually did even with everything that had happened and she could see the concern in Harry’s green gaze. She pulled the locket up over her head and placed it in his hand, instantly feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She no longer felt the soul crushing unhappiness she had before and she found her mind felt clear again, without all the noise of her horrible thoughts. Almost as soon as Harry slipped the chain around his neck, his expression darkened slightly. It always affected the boys much faster than it did her, 

“Are you sure you want to wear it?” She asked, searching his face, “I can manage a bit longer.”

He pulled her close again and planted a kiss on her head, his lips meeting with her bushy brown tresses,

“I’ll be fine, ‘Mione.” He whispered, gently. 

She let out a breath and felt as if she could breathe for the first time that night. She relaxed into his embrace and closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift off to sleep. 

That’s when she heard the whisper. 

A moment later, Hermione’s eyes snapped open. She sat up and pulled out her wand,

“Hermione??” Harry’s voice was full of confusion. 

She turned to him and placed a finger to her lips to shush him. Quietly, she tiptoed out of the tent with her wand at the ready. Ron was still sitting outside at the fire and upon seeing her stood up. He was still wearing the same scowl from before and opened his mouth, about to say something, when he noticed her wand. Instinctively, he grabbed his own and scanned the darkness around them. Harry came out of the tent then too, looking at his two friends, utterly bewildered,

“What is it?” Ron hissed, keeping his voice as low as possible, 

“I heard something.” Hermione replied, “A whisper.”

“Do you think they’ve come back?” Harry asked, “The Snatchers.” 

Hermione gave him a look that told him she didn’t know and mouthed for the two boys to be quiet so she could listen again. 

There was another faint sound, a murmur almost, though she couldn’t fully make it out, 

“Did you hear it?” She asked. 

The two boys shook their heads, looking even more confused than before. She sighed and rolled her head in exasperation,

“I think it said ‘danger’, but I can’t be sure. It’s hard to make out.”

“I can’t hear a thing.” Ron said, in his normal voice now as he gave a shrug,

“Me either.” Harry said. 

Hermione gave the two boys an incredulous look. How could they not hear it?! It was faint, yes, but it was evident there was something there, someone was out in the darkness talking. She watched the wind shake the trees, pulling the leaves off in the process and watched for any signs of movement out in the woods but there was none. There was nothing that she could  _ see _ to tell them someone was here, but there was no denying what she had just heard. 

_ Granger.  _

__ Hermione dropped her wand. Her mouth hanging open in shock and horror. She took a step back. Harry and Ron were over to her in an instant. Ron stared down at her in concern and Harry held her arms tight, as if afraid she would lose her balance if he wasn’t supporting her, 

“Are you ok? Hermione, what is it?!” Harry asked, clearly worried. 

The girl shook her head, her eyes wide with surprise,

“N-nothing. I just...I thought I heard something but it’s nothing.”

Harry looked back to Ron,

“You didn’t hear anything, did you? You don’t think there’s anyone out there?”

“Not a thing, mate. Doesn’t look like there’s anyone but us here.” 

“Right. Hermione, I think you need to get some sleep. You’ve barely had a full night in weeks and I don’t think this damned locket is helping.” 

Hermione nodded, swallowing hard to rid herself of the lump in her throat. Harry squeezed her arms a bit and she found the gesture reassuring, 

“We’re moving tomorrow. Just in case.” 

He looked to the two friends for confirmation of this and both agreed with a mumbled ‘yeah, of course’. Hermione left the two boys outside again and climbed back into the tent, where she sat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. 

There was no denying it. It was his voice she had heard. His voice saying her name inside her head. So real that she’d been certain the other boys would have heard it. How was that even possible?! She glanced down at the little brooch around her neck again and seriously considered taking it off. He must have done something wrong. He must have uttered the wrong incantation for one of the charms or...or something. There was no other explanation. Unless it was all in her head and had nothing to do with magic at all. Was she losing her grip on reality? Had the weeks of sleepless nights and being chased down by Death Eaters finally gotten to her? Or was it that blasted locket? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it. Merlin knows she didn’t bloody trust it. 

_ Be careful! _

Draco’s voice said again, coming from nowhere and yet clear as if he was in the room with her now. He sounded troubled, his words laced with fear and urgency. 

_ They’re looking for you. They know your face.  _

__ Hermione held a hand to her head as she tried to understand what was happening. It was odd; hearing him like that made her think she was going mad, but then the moment she was greeted with the quiet of their camp she found herself wanting to hear the voice again. She hadn’t quite realised just how much she missed it. Or him for that matter. 

Hermione sucked in a breath and lay down on her bed, her brows furrowed as she wondered what in Merlin’s name was happening. First, the Eye, then the brooch, then the locket and now this. It was all too much for the young witch to fully comprehend. Tomorrow, when they had found somewhere safe to set up camp, she would pull out all her books and get to work trying to find out what this could possibly mean. 

Harry couldn’t know, she decided. She had to keep this quiet. The boy wouldn’t be too happy knowing she was hearing Draco’s voice at night. 

Not that she could blame him, of course. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, 
> 
> So I know the whole 'Witch's Eye' thing might be a bit weird but that was a part of the original story I wrote and I just wanted to continue it on with this. It also leads Hermione to make the dots on a revelation down the line. 
> 
> Anyway, leave a review if you can and let me know what you thought of this chapter.


	7. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's misdeeds come back to haunt him and he meets a fellow Slytherin who brings a bit of light to his murky world.

* * *

_ I see you when you chase all the dreams inside your head _

_ I see you when you laugh and when you love until the bitter end _

* * *

_ October _

Draco opened his eyes to find the bright, morning light pooling into Slytherin common room from the narrow window in front of him. He winced at the blinding brightness, rubbing sleep from his eyes with one hand and massaging his aching neck with the other. He arched his back just far enough to feel a momentary relief from the tense muscles and relaxed into the hard, leather chair with a yawn. 

He gazed down on the mess of papers, textbooks and scrawled notes before him. His typically elegant handwriting reduced to barely legible blots of ink. Rather than spending his Friday night celebrating the latest Quidditch win with his fellow Slytherins and teammates, Draco had done what he does every night; he had retreated to the quiet dungeon and immersed himself in his studies. Not just for his upcoming N.E.W.Ts come the spring, but his own personal studies in defensive and protective magic. Now that the white-blonde wizard was back at school, and had been temporarily relieved of his Death Eater duties, he could focus his energy on learning the kind of magic that could protect him and those he cared about from the Dark Lord’s forces. He had thrown himself into his work, partially because he felt responsible for causing the war and wanted to do his part in protecting those he could, and partially because it kept his mind occupied. With an endless array of classes, coursework and his new spells to learn, he had no time to think about the terrible things he had done in recent months. Snape would often chastise him for this in the early days during their secret Cleiromency lessons, insisting that blocking out his feelings would only make the process more difficult for him, but he had no choice. It was a compulsion now. As if by absorbing as much information as he could it would somehow stop the worst from happening and change the outcome of the war. 

Draco smiled despite himself. She wasn’t even here and she was rubbing off on him. He had never understood her obsession with learning -he enjoyed it, definitely, but she took it to a whole other level- and now here he was a mirror image of her. He wondered what she would say if she could see him now. Almost as soon as he thought about it, his smile faltered. No, she wouldn’t be proud of him because he had his head buried in five different books. She would be repulsed. Afraid, even. 

He stood then and collected his books and papers, before trudging up the spiral staircase to the shared boys room. Thankfully, he was alone today. It was late in the morning, almost noon, and all the other boys were already down in the Great Hall preparing for lunch. He pulled off his now creased school shirt and trousers and went to take a shower. 

The water was cool and welcoming against his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment and brushed his hair back with both hands, smoothing it down in place. Then he leaned back against the white tiles and looked up, staring at the ornamental ceiling above him. 

“Mummy?” 

Draco’s head snapped down in the direction of the voice, his heart pounding in his chest.  _ Not again!  _ He thought as he turned off the shower and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist. Tentatively, he made his way out of the large, opulent bathroom and towards the bedroom where he found a small boy sitting on his bed. Draco gulped. It was the same boy who had been visiting him in recent weeks, nevertheless he could never get used to seeing the image of the child in front of him. 

“Where’s my mummy?” Timothy Knightly asked, his big blue eyes full of tears as he stared up into Draco’s grey orbs. 

The Slytherin shook his head, he opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out, 

“Did you kill her?” the boy asked, darkly, his sad expression looking more and more malicious with every word he spoke. 

“N-no. I-I didn’t.” 

The boy stood then, hopping off the large four poster bed and holding onto on to one of the black, mahogany posts, swinging around it and stopping right in front of Draco. 

“You’re not real.” He mumbled. 

The boy smirked, 

“I could have been anything you know.” His voice was childlike again, “An Auror, a Quidditch player, a member of the Ministry. I had my whole life ahead of me and you took it.”

Draco took a deep breath, he clenched his jaw and bit back the tears he knew would follow if he didn’t calm himself, 

“I didn’t kill you.” He replied, more to himself than to the boy, 

“You didn’t save me.” 

With this sentence, Draco recoiled as if he’d been hit. The tears spilled over and his lip quivered, 

“I’m sorry!” His voice cracked, “I wanted to. I tried-”

“No, you didn’t.” The boy laughed, “You were too afraid to do anything. You were a coward.” 

The Slytherin fell to his knees, clutching the towel around his waist in one hand and gasping for air between heavy, anguished sobs, 

“I’m dead because of you. Look at me, you coward!  _ LOOK AT ME!! _ ”

Draco glanced up reluctantly, afraid to gaze upon the young boy’s face. When his eyes met Timothy’s he found they were no longer the brilliant bright blue of a child’s, but the terrifying dark glare of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. As the room melted away until it was nothing like the green and black bedroom of his youth and more and more like the dark grey-blue of the Manor, the boy changed as well. Timothy Knightley’s small legs merged together and grew metallic black scales until he had the lower body of a snake and torso of a small boy. The flesh around his face started to decay and rot as Draco stared at him, shaking and terrified. Then, without a word, Timothy lunged for him with his arms outstretched. Frozen with fear, all Draco could do was scream in horror as tears rolled down his pale, handsome face.

Then in an instant the vision was gone, the room returned to normal and the only sound was that of Draco gasping for air on the wooden floor of the bedroom. His eyes darted around the room, waiting for something else to appear. He stayed like that for a while, his legs too weak to carry him anywhere. Only when he regained his breath and his limbs had stopped the violent trembling, did he move towards the bathroom once more to take his shower. 

This happened all the time now. Almost daily. He saw people he’d watch die, he saw his mother killed, his father threatening to kill him, his friends tortured and torn apart by Greyback. If not once a day then at least a few times a week, he would have these hallucinations. He had confided in Snape about them, hoping they were a side effect of the bonding spell he’d used and that it could easily be mended with magic, but he was too optimistic. These weren’t a mesh of fears brought to life by spells, these were fears and pain brought to life by the mind itself. Snape had had him examined by Madame Pomfrey, who, after much questioning, had concluded he was suffering from trauma induced psychosis and no magic could help him. The old woman had suggested a Healer, but Draco rebuffed the idea. Those in the Dark Lord’s closest circle already saw him as weak, if they were to learn that all he had already seen and done had  _ traumatised _ him enough to cause these visions, then they would erupt with laughter before they fired the Killing Curse his way. And so the young wizard dealt with it the only way he knew how; he ignored it. 

Once he had showered, Draco pulled on his uniform black suit and matching black polo neck, and found his way to the library where he intended to finish his studies. He sat quietly with a cup of black coffee and a half-eaten green apple as he poured over the books in front of him, memorising spells and potions he thought might help him in the future. Every now and then, he would watch the Death Eater guards from his peripheral vision, hyper aware of their movements, watching their mouths closely in an attempt to read their words and gather what little information he could. The more he knew the better. He could be prepared, he could plan ahead for his family and for her. He could warn her if he thought they were closing in. He hoped now she’d got his message she’d be more careful, now that she knew they knew her face. The trio were infamous. Their faces plastered on every goddamn wanted poster throughout the wizarding world. She had to lay low and he had to keep her informed on whatever he found out. Unfortunately, Cleiromency didn’t also allow him to read  _ her _ mind as well and thus he couldn’t determine what she did with the information he gave her. He hoped she’d listen to his whispers and act accordingly, even if it meant hiding out in the woods for the rest of her life. At least then she could grow old. 

“Well, mate.”

Draco was on his feet in an instant, the movement so abrupt he sent the chair he’d been sitting on flying back. His sweaty palm wound tightly around his wand which he kept at his side low enough to be out of sight of the person in front of him and high enough to be effective in an attack, 

“Bloody hell, Malfoy! What’s got you so tense?” Zabini asked with a chuckle as he dropped his textbooks on to the table and sat down in the opposite chair across from him. Goyle took his place beside the Italian and looked thoroughly unimpressed with the blonde Slytherin, 

“Thought you were someone else.” Draco muttered as he picked up his chair and sat back down. With shaky hands, he stuffed his wand into his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. 

_ Get it together, you dolt!  _

“Have you even slept?” Zabini eyed him up and down,

“Yeah, I got a couple of hours.” He nodded, trying to regain his composure, “Blasted N.E.W.Ts.” He grumbled. 

“Have you heard?” Goyle whispered then, leaning in close and sounding excited, “They caught more of them! Ted Tonks and Dean Thomas got Snatched. Won’t be long now til they find Potter. I can’t wait!” 

Draco kept his voice even and face devoid of emotion, 

“You think they’re close?”

“Only a matter of time.” Goyle grinned, wide and nasty, “Weeks maybe.” 

“What have they done with them?” Draco asked. 

“Thomas is still alive, last I heard.” Zabini said, coolly, “He’s been rather cooperative.” 

“Tonks is a goner.” Goyle laughed, drawing a thumb across his throat, “He tried to get away so Greyback did him in.”

Draco said nothing to that and turned back to his work, but Goyle wasn’t quite done, 

“The Dark Lord is gonna change the world. No more bastard mudbloods walking around like they own the place.” 

The blonde Slytherin couldn’t stop his hand from twitching at that. He wanted so badly to punch the other boy in the face, but he couldn’t react. Not to that. If they knew how he truly felt he’d be dead. He needed to keep up the facade. He needed to keep calm. 

“Imagine when they get Potter and his filthy little girlfriend!” Goyle laughed again, “We’ll have to celebrate then boys.” 

“Can you please stop talking?!” Draco said slowly, his voice low and harsh, “I am _ trying _ to concentrate.” 

Goyle huffed, and slouched back in his seat, arms folded across his chest. The bigger boy made no attempt to study and it was evident to any on-looker he was just sitting there because he had nothing else better to do. With his head bent down over his work, Draco could feel the two boys’ eyes on him; Goyle was glaring at him, frustrated that the blonde hadn’t joined in his excitement and revelry at such news as someone’s death, and Zabini was studying his wooden expression, no doubt searching for something that would give him away. 

His relationship with the Italian had grown more and more strained over the years, thanks to Zabini’s previous knowledge of the connection Draco had with the very girl they were just talking about. He had found out about their friendship years ago and he had kept quiet about it for a long time, but by the time the two boys were fifteen Zabini had had enough and planned to out him. Draco had  _ Obliviated _ him, Parkinson and another girl whom he’d told before the news could spread any further, but since then their relationship had never quite been the same. In that moment, Zabini had gone from being a close friend who Draco genuinely trusted to being another lad he hung around, but would never confide in. For the most part he was just another goon like Crabbe or Goyle or Nott. He suspected the boy still had some suspicions though. Or perhaps Draco was reading too much into it, perhaps he was a little paranoid. 

“Who’s that?” Zabini’s voice broke him from his thoughts. 

Draco turned in the direction the dark-skinned boy nodded and saw a petite, brunette with a pretty face and delicate features. She bent down gracefully to pick up something she’d dropped -an earring by the looks of it- and he was suddenly taken back to fourth year. Right then, he didn’t see a dark-haired Slytherin sixth year he vaguely recognised from dinners in the Great Hall, but the bushy-haired Gryffindor he knew better than he knew himself. He watched her, mesmerised by how similarly her mannerisms were, how she tucked her hair behind her ear and clutched the books to her chest. He felt a pang of nostalgia and longing. 

“Watch it, Malfoy, you’ll catch flies.” Zabini laughed and Draco realised he was gawking at the poor girl. 

“She’s well fit.” Goyle announced, looking her up and down. 

The girl was wearing simple jeans and a cardigan, almost exactly like  _ she _ used to. The only major difference was that the cardigan was not a muted pastel shade of blue or pink, but rather black and expensive-looking.

Draco found he couldn’t take his eyes off her; everything about her reminded him of the girl he loved and now would never see again. Or at least he  _ hoped _ he wouldn’t for her sake. He wanted to get to know her. He wondered was she a know-it-all too? Did she have an unbending need to fix the problems of the world like  _ she _ did? Were her eyes brown as well? Maybe….just maybe if he couldn’t have the girl he wanted, he could have a version of her. Draco smiled at the thought. The boys beside him said something, but he didn’t hear. He was too entranced in his replica to notice. Without another word, Draco downed his now stone cold coffee and collected his books, stuffing them into his satchel. 

“Prat. He always has to steal away the pretty ones.” He heard Zabini’s voice behind him as he walked away and crossed the library. 

He found her now sitting at a table alone, a notepad out in front of her and two textbooks. 

“Do you mind?” He asked politely, gesturing to the seat opposite hers. 

“You can sit wherever you like, Malfoy.” She smiled up at him, knowing and confident. 

He sat down and began pulling out his books. Now that he was closer he could see her eyes were in fact a piercing blue and her hair fell in soft curls around her face. 

“You know who I am?” He asked, stunned. 

“Everyone knows who you are; you’re the boy who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.” 

The blonde boy pulled a face and immediately tried to hide it. His greatest mistake, his biggest regret in fact, was now the reason people knew who he was. There would have been a time Draco would have welcomed that renown, but now he knew how much it cost to get here he didn’t want it anymore. The old Draco who had arrogantly longed for fame and prestige, who thought he was better than anyone else, was dead and gone. What remained was a boy constantly on edge and in fear of his life, a boy who wanted a quiet life because at least then he could have one. At least then he could become the person he wanted to be and not just another mindless murderer. 

“And  _ you _ are?” He asked, looking up at her from under his brow, as he began half reading a paragraph from his  _ Dark Curses And How To Counter Them _ book, 

“Astoria Greengrass.” 

She leaned forward and stuck her hand out to him. He took it and gave her hand a gentle shake. 

“Aren’t your friends going to miss you?” She asked with a twinkle in her eye, as she glanced over her shoulder towards the two boys he had just left. 

Draco gave a lazy half-shrug,

“Not a bit. They’re quite happy with the sounds of their own voices.” 

“Oh? Well, I best not talk too much then.”

He felt a smile tug at his lips. He liked her confidence. Her certainly in everything that she did. It was as if she had all the answers. He watched as she jotted something down in her notepad, a dark brown curl falling in front of her face. The realisation hit him that she was studying for her O.W.Ls and he ought to leave her be and let her work away quietly. However, he found himself full of wonder about her. He wanted to find out who she was and what she wanted to be, what her interests were and what her family were like. He knew she had a sister as Parkinson had been friends with Daphne and from that he knew she was one of the more notable pureblood families that the Malfoys had close connections with. He wondered if they were cold and stoic like his or if they were openly loving. 

Up close he noticed the light dusting of freckles across her little button nose. He watched her delicate fingers turn the pages of the book she was reading, as she moved the quill across the parchment. Her face was smooth and calm as she wrote her notes, as if she wasn’t studying for her exams at all and was writing idle, carefree letters to an old friend. 

“You’re staring.” she said, not looking at him. 

There it was again. The Deja vu. He had done this before, sat in the library like this watching the girl he fancied as she studied, completely dazzled by her. There were a few differences he noted though. For one, the Gryffindor had been much more flustered in his presence -as if she was uncomfortable under his unwavering gaze- her brows tightly knit as she took in the information from the books in front of her, more focused on her studies than on him. Astoria, however, was much, much more unfazed. Draco got the feeling that she knew she was a beauty and had long decided to make use of it by using her looks and her charms to assert herself. He realised that, much like the other girl she reminded him of, the sixth year witch probably got this a lot. Although, Astoria was at least aware of the attention she received from the male students. He couldn’t imagine the girl in front of him having the likes of Krum and Potter hanging off her arm and then deluding herself to thinking it’s only ‘friendship’ they were after. No, the girl in front of him would have played them off against each other in a deliberate attempt to see which one, if either, were worthy of her. It only made sense of course. She wouldn’t have shared his house if it weren’t for her cunning and ambition. If it weren’t for her clearly apparent and undeniable need to have the best. 

Draco knew that if he wanted even a slither of a chance with her, he would have to go out of his way to impress her. The thing was he didn’t know how. He’d only ever had one girlfriend and that was Parkinson and she had been easily obtainable thanks to his family name and the many summers they spent together. In fact she had practically thrown herself at him. He had slept with other girls too over the last few years, but it never meant or led to anything more. He didn’t count thirty minutes in an abandoned classroom at night with a random Ravenclaw  _ romantic _ experience. 

Then there was the bushy-haired Gryffindor bookworm who had stolen his heart. Though over the years their relationship had grown from friendship to a handful of stolen kisses, mixed with angry outbursts, painful goodbyes and not much else. Draco hadn’t really actively pursued her either. If anything, he had done very much the opposite, denying his feelings and covering his love for her with hurtful words. 

Now that he thought about it, he had always been rather horrible to the girls he had been with. He didn’t know how to be pleasant or how to make conversation without the guise of rude jibes or childish antics. 

“Does it bother you?” he asked, talking about his staring. 

She looked up at him then and cocked her head to the side, her hair falling over one shoulder and revealing her elegant neck. She pursed her lips and shook her head, 

“No.” she narrowed her eyes at him then, a thought flickered across her face, “Is this what you do then?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Astoria let out a laugh and sat back in her seat,

“Is this your idea of flirting?”

He scoffed and looked away, 

“Can’t say I’ve ever really needed to try so I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, well, well, aren’t you full of yourself?” her tone was teasing. 

It was his turn to laugh now. He couldn’t remember the last time he had chuckled not through anger but through genuine amusement. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a conversation as light-hearted and relaxed as this, or the last time he had felt a flicker of desire. With everything that had happened over the last year, he had almost forgotten how it felt to be a teenage boy with needs, how it felt to explore someone else's body with his hands and mouth. He held her gaze, and they both smiled at each other playfully. Oh, yes, Draco had decided he wanted this girl. He wanted to feel her beneath him, and on top of him, he wanted to inhale her perfume and run his fingers through her hair. He wanted her to help him forget. And to help him remember who he used to be.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone else sit down. He rolled his eyes. Of course, someone else would have to come along and ruin this moment for him, just as he was enjoying the back and forth with her. Exasperated, Draco looked around, ready to tell the other person to sod off, but when he caught sight of who it was his throat went dry and he was once again paralysed, as he had been earlier that day when his shower was rudely interrupted. He was frozen, both in fear and awe at the girl sitting across from him, beside Astoria. 

“Oh, don’t let me stop you!” she spat. 

Her chest rising and falling quickly in that way of hers when she was really upset, her nostrils flared with anger and her big, brown eyes looked from him to Astoria and back again. 

He willed himself not to look at her. He had one very real and very pretty girl in front of him already, he didn’t need this ridiculous illusion. At any rate, if he reacted to her words he would look completely mad. Instead, he took a deep breath and tried to focus on the things currently in the room which he knew were real. The wooden chair he was sitting on, the rows and rows of almost-ceiling-high bookcases that housed a litany of knowledge, the smell of parchment and dusty old books, the sound of quiet chatter and whispered incantations of practice spells, the sound of footsteps against the hardwood floor, the bitter aftertaste of coffee in his mouth. All of these things were real. She was not. He had to remember that. 

“What’re you reading?” He asked, his throat hoarse, as he tried desperately to ignore the girl to his right. 

Astoria closed over the book and held it up for him to see, it read  _ Intermediate Transfiguration.  _

“It’s terribly dull.” she rolled her eyes, “I much prefer Alchemy. What about you?”

“Potions.” He kept his gaze on his books, afraid to look up. He could feel her brown eyes on him still, glaring at him, “Do you...do you wanna take a walk? I missed lunch and...well, we-we could take” he cleared his throat, “a..t-trip to Hogsmead.” 

He was stammering for Merlin’s sake! He must have looked like a right bloody idiot. Draco groaned internally. If he could just get out of this damned library he was certain the apparition would disappear and he would be able to relax once again. He hoped Astoria would come with him. He could do with the walk, and some company that wasn’t Crabbe, Goyle or Zabini. They could head to The Three Broomsticks, grab a Firewhiskey or Nettle-wine and a bite to eat. He could have a normal day with her, without any talk of Death Eater business and the hunt for Potter. 

“On a date?” Astoria smirked. 

“Well...um...I mean...maybe...yeah…”

The phantom was standing now, he watched her from the corner of his eye, 

“You foul, horrible cockroach!” he could hear the hurt in her voice, and he flinched at her words, “How could you?!” 

Astoria laughed at his discomfort, mistaking it for nerves. He supposed he was a little nervous around her, but it was the other figure with her hands at her sides balled into fists that really got to him. 

“Let’s go then.” Astoria said, collecting her things from the table. 

He made to leave as well, but long fingers curled around his wrist. Illusion or not, it _ felt  _ real. Her hand was warm and made his skin tingle just as he remembered. He waited until Astoria had walked a little ahead before he gazed up at her. 

For the first time since she appeared, he allowed himself to really look at her pretty face. Her skin was the same porcelain as before, her lashes long and her little cupid’s bow mouth pulled into a pout. It was torture. She was so close, she was touching him, but none of it was real. He knew that whatever transpired between them in the next few minutes -whether it was a peaceful exchange or a terrifying one like before- eventually she would fade away and he would be left with only a distant memory of her. One he would have to purge from his thoughts later in order to keep a level head, because if he let his mind wander, if he let himself think of her for too long, it would break his resolve to keep going. 

“You’re really going to leave with her?” the phantom asked, her voice breaking. He tried to tug his hand away, she only clutched him tighter. “You told me you loved me.” 

There were tears now staining her face,

“I do.” he whispered, “But you’re not here. Not really.” 

Her eyes were pleading with him, 

“Draco? Are you coming?” Astoria called from behind.

He tugged his hand away again and this time she let him go, but she didn’t vanish like he expected her to. She stood there, staring at him as he hastily put his things away in his bag, 

“Go then!” the Gryffindor girl snapped, “Leave!”

His heart broke at the sight of her, but he didn’t need to be told twice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter, it was by far one of my favourite to write. I loved playing around with Astoria's character. I took inspiration from Effy Stonem's confidence from Skins, thinking her personality would be very Slytherin-esque. 
> 
> Originally I had written Astoria to be fifteen in this, but then with some of the references in this chapter and later on I didn't want it to have the implication of her being underage, so I aged her up one year since 16 is the age of consent in the UK. If you see any mistakes re her age/school year just let me know and I'll fix that. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you liked this and let me know any thoughts you had x


	8. Gallows End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Harry find more than they bargained for in a quiet muggle town and the validity of their relationship is brought in to question as a result,

* * *

_ Lover, hunter, friend and enemy  _

_ You will always be everyone of these  _

* * *

_ December _

Hermione reached forward and snatched Harry’s fallen wand, before retreating back to her hiding place beside the rotten, old, dilapidated bed. Her heart was racing as she stared at the hole in the floor the snake had fallen through when she’d cast her curse at the beast. 

Harry stood behind the bed, beside her, clutching his arm where it had been cut in the fight. There was a silence. Relief washed over her as she got to her feet, but it was short-lived as Nagini lunged for the pair again. Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand and Apparated them out of the ruined Bagshot house and into the eerie quiet of Gallows End, a small village a few miles north from Godric’s Hollow.

It was a quiet place she had visited with her parents once when she was thirteen. They had been on their way to a holiday cottage which they rented for two weeks during her summer break from Hogwarts, and they had passed through the little village to grab lunch at the local inn. Gallows End was neither well known nor very popular, with only a handful of shops and pubs. A lonely little hamlet that was off the radar and perfect for the two teens trying to avoid trouble. They couldn’t go back into hiding just yet. It had been days since they’d last eaten anything and they’d run out of their last bit of clean drinking water earlier that afternoon. Her lips were already cracked from the rationing and the cold. They were out here in the open already, and Hermione decided they might as well get what they need now from this lonely village, rather than go hungry again tonight and risk another trip where Death Eaters might find them. 

The pair broke apart to get their bearings and catch their breath. Harry was bent over with his hands on his knees and cuts all over his face as he tried to steady himself. Hermione was holding onto a street lamp with one hand and clutching the wands with the other. 

“That was close!” Harry said, out of breath, “Where are we?”

“Gallows End. I came here once with Mum and Dad. It’s always quiet. It should be safe for now anyway.”

“What if the bloody snake comes back?” 

Hermione tucked the two wands away into her pocket, not wanting Harry to see what had happened to his wand. She smoothed down her navy duffle, wiping the wood splits, broken glass and other debris off her coat, 

“We can’t live off fresh air forever, Harry.” she replied, sounding tired. 

Harry sighed and she could tell after seeing his parent’s graves and the attack, he just wanted to go home, back to the safety of the forest where they had stayed for months now. 

“Ok.” he said, taking her hand, “Maybe we can look for Ron too, in case he came through here.”

She didn’t tell him that it wasn’t likely they would find the missing member of their trio. Ron had left weeks ago. The powers and lies of the locket had become too much for him to bear. He had convinced himself that Harry and Hermione neither needed nor wanted him and, after an argument that very nearly became a physical fight between the two boys, the auburn-haired wizard had stormed off into the dark, taking the radio and all of his belongings with him. They had no way of knowing if he was alive or not. It had broken her heart watching him go and she spent night after night worrying about him. 

They trudged through the snow, which crunched softly beneath their feet, and made their way up through the village. The tiny snowflakes fell from the sky, drifting slowly to the ground, turning everything white in the process. The night was dark and the air crisp and Hermione could see her breath with every step she took. Harry’s hand was warm in hers, she could feel the heat radiating through her woolen gloves. They crossed a bridge over a half frozen river and found a little shop just passed it. Harry pushed open the door and they made their way inside. The old man at the counter, who was reading a newspaper, greeted them with a grumble and the pair smiled politely while keeping their heads down. They collected as many supplies as they could; a whole chicken, five tins of mushroom soup, four tins of tuna, three large bottles of water, cabbage, bread, milk, teabags, potatoes, porridge and biscuits for a treat. The old man put the groceries in a canvas bag and handed them over to Harry who in return handed the man a muggle note. Once outside, Hermione slipped the groceries into her tiny beaded bag and the pair crossed the street towards the local pub to look for Ron. 

The pub was all dark wood beams and dark wood-and-black-leather booths. The walls were a stark white in contrast with areas where the paint had begun to peel, falling down from the wall to the floor. The dim lighting cast most of the pub in shadows and the pair felt a little safer within the darkness. 

Harry ordered the drinks, while Hermione scanned the half-empty local for enemies. Luckily enough, it was all muggles from what she could tell. 

“To Ron.” Harry said sadly, lifting his glass to hers. He had ordered them both eggnog. She took the glass and touched it to his. 

“To Ron” She replied with a small smile, “Cheers.” She took a sip of the warm creamy liquid and instantly tasted the cinnamon and nutmeg swirling in her mouth. It was lovely. 

They hadn’t even known it was Christmas Eve until earlier that night when they heard the church bells. Hermione longed to be back home with her parents, excited about the gifts they would soon open the next morning, and having a delicious roast big enough for there to be leftovers. Then they would have brandy pudding in the evening as she cuddled up on the sofa in between her Mum and Dad. 

“You haven’t seen a boy about my age here, have you?” Harry asked the barman, “Quite tall, broad, auburn hair…?” 

“Afraid not.” The man replied, with a scratch of his beard, “We don’t get many people here though.” 

“Right.” Harry said, his eyes on the floor.

Hermione knew already they wouldn’t find him. He would be in hiding like them, and even if he happened to pass by a village or a town they too might have crossed through it was never going to be this one. Not to mention it had already been months since they last saw the boy and the young witch was beginning to lose hope they would ever find him again. For all they knew he could very well be dead. They were no closer to finding Ron than they were to finding any of the damned Horcruxes or the sword. Hermione couldn’t escape the hopelessness gnawing inside of her, eating away at her, every time she thought about her friend or the monumental task before them. 

As if he could read her thoughts, Harry put an arm around her waist and gave her a kiss on the cheek, 

“Are you ok?” He asked, eyeing her wearily.

“I’m fine…” she took a large mouthful of her drink, hoping it would take the edge off. It didn’t. Even though her head was light and fuzzy from the mixture of alcohol and lack of food, she still felt tense and her head was muddled with thoughts. With one hand in her coat pocket she ran her fingers along the vial hidden inside, “Are we out of our depth with this?”

A look passed over his features as he thought about her question. Then he took a deep breath and let it out, 

“I don’t know.” he replied, “Dumbledore wouldn’t have trusted us with this if he didn’t think we could do it.” 

He was right about that at least. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of their time. He wouldn’t have left the fate of the wizarding world in the hands of three -now two- teens if he wasn’t absolutely certain they had a chance of defeating Voldemort. As comforting as the thought was, it still wasn’t enough to ease the heavy despair within her. 

Finishing his drink, the Boy-Who-Lived set his glass on the bar and gave her a hug. It wasn’t until they pulled away and she opened her eyes that she noticed the two men leaving. 

Her heart stopped for a moment. They were Death Eaters.

How had the two men not seen them? Was it really that dark in the pub? Or were they just not looking? Whatever the case it was a close call. Without a word, Hermione finished her own glass and dragged Harry out of the pub with her, following the two men who had just left. Harry protested and asked where she was taking him, but she just shushed him. They managed to sneak past the Death Eaters to hide behind an old, 1970s Vauxhall which was heavily blanketed in snow. Crouched low, the pair listened and watched as the two men stood on the street, a few feet up from the pub, waiting to meet someone. They were clad entirely in black attire and both men were middle-aged and balding. One had a beard and was rather bulky, but she couldn’t see his face in the shadows. The other was tall and thin, gaunt looking with sunken eyes. The tall, thin man she recognised to be Dominic Nott, Theodore Nott’s father. 

“That’s Pieter Goyle.” Harry whispered behind her, “Gregory Goyle’s father. What are they doing here?”

“Nothing good anyway.” Hermione replied, “This is a muggle place. A quiet one at that. If Death Eaters are here...they must be hiding something. A Horcrux maybe.” 

“Or looking for us.” 

His words were full of concern and urgency, as if he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible to avoid another attack. He gripped her arm, pulling her back as if to leave, but she couldn’t go just yet. If they were sneaking around like this then maybe they knew something. They were high ranking followers of You-Know-Who; they wouldn’t be out here for nothing. 

“Well?” Came the familiar voice, “Did you find the bloody thing?” 

Hermione peeked over the car boot to find the blonde-haired boy, standing with his hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face.  _ Draco...It’s him. He’s here.  _ It was the first time she had seen him in almost a year and she felt a deep nostalgia as she watched him. He was wearing his signature black suit, complete with a black duffle and his usual cossack. Her guts churned at the sight of him. Merlin, she missed him. Missed his smirk, his laugh, the mischievous gleam in his eyes, the deep, intense conversations they had, the way he made her feel when she was around him, his touch, his scent. Everything. 

_ No. No, you can’t think about it. He’s a Death Eater! And, anyway, you’re with Harry. You’re happy. You don’t need him.  _

He looked uneasy, glancing over his shoulder every two to three minutes. Not an obvious movement. In fact it was a barely noticeable turn of his head. It would have looked like nothing had it not been for the way his arm was tensed. He was holding his wand inside his pocket, ready to draw it at a moment's notice should things go wrong. He was afraid. Hermione didn’t know how but she could feel it. The fear for his own life and for his parents lives. Particularly his dear mother. Although Hermione had never met her, she felt the need to protect her.  _ His _ need to protect her. It must have been intuition she told herself. With one glance behind her, she saw Harry glaring at their former classmate, his hands balled into fists. 

“Not yet, Malfoy.” Nott replied, “You’re welcome to look for it yerself if you like.” 

“I wasn’t the damned idiot that lost it!” The boy snapped. 

“Watch yourself, boy.” Goyle, the bearded man, replied. “You don’t take that tone with us.” 

Draco scoffed, “Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?” 

He was putting it on, acting brave despite his evident fear. It didn’t make sense. The Goyles and the Notts were close allies and friends of the Malfoys, if anything it was the only reason the younger boys hung out together at all. They didn’t truly know or care for each other, but rather their friendship was one of convenience. Draco had always seen Theo Nott and Gregory Goyle as his bodyguards more so than anything else, but they were always on good terms. Why, then, did the fathers of the boys now sound almost threatening towards him? What had he done to earn their anger? There was one way to find out; she had to keep listening. 

“We could kill you. The Dark Lord ain’t too impressed with you. I don’t think he’d miss your sorry arse.” Goyle said, his tone menacing, 

“Yeah, well, if you don’t find the bloody Eye you won’t last long yourself.” Draco bit out, barely hiding the quiver in his voice. 

Hermione turned to Harry then and the two teens came to the same realisation at the same time. 

“Yeah, yeah, we know, we know.” Nott grumbled, “Well there’s nothing here.” 

Draco looked around in the darkness then and Hermione hurriedly ducked low behind the car, afraid he may have caught her. Her heart was pounding and she tried to keep her breath steady so as not to draw any attention their way, 

“Keep looking.” 

And with that the blonde haired boy Disapparated. 

“Come on, let’s go.” Harry whispered, tugging her arm. She gently patted his hand away and peered around the car once more, 

“Little git.” Goyle said, “Who does he think he is threatening us? Can’t even kill those vile Mudbloods but thinks he can threaten us!” 

Nott laughed at that, a dark, wholehearted chuckle, 

“He’s all bark and no bite, that lad. Look at him with the Durich girl...all trembling and weak at the knees torturing the bitch.” He laughed again. 

“And the Knightly boy! Tried to keep the Dark Lord from killing him, remember that?!” Goyle spat on the ground in disgust, “He’s a gutless coward, that one.” 

The young witch held back a whimper. Her hand over her mouth in horror. Her heart felt heavy. Her breath caught in her throat, choking her. They had killed Timothy.  _ How could they?! Monsters! _ The thought was too much to bear. Tears made their way down her cheeks and she wiped them away roughly. Of all the things she thought would happen in this war, the murder of children wasn’t one of them. It just wasn’t something she had taken into account and now that she was faced with this harsh truth, she realised that Timothy wouldn’t have been the first. In that moment she wanted to crawl away into a dark corner and hide. Hide away forever. No longer a part of this cruel, evil world. 

“Hermione,” Harry whispered, and she looked around at him with brown eyes full of tears, “we have to go. Before they catch us.” 

Composing herself, Hermione took Harry’s hand and together they Disapparated. 

***

The fire crackled and flickered in the darkness of the woods. They had made camp again for the night after Hermione had tended to Harry’s arm with a clever healing spell. The cut was deep enough to require magic but not so deep that it would require proper medical and magical attention. It was the early hours of the morning when they finally sat down in front of the flames to eat their first meal in almost five days. Hermione had reached the point where she had forgotten her hunger; she no longer felt the aching emptiness of her stomach -like someone had punched a hole through her with their fist- and felt only weak and tired and irritable. 

Their first meal was nothing special, just chicken, which they roasted on the fire, with soup and bread. It didn’t matter though, the moment she bit into the charred and slightly burnt chicken, it was like she was tasting food for the first time in her life. Only when she took that first bite did she realise how hungry she’d been. 

“What do you think Ron’s up to then?” Hermione asked, dipping her bread roll into her soup, 

“Oh he’s definitely in a pub somewhere.” Harry’s tone was joking, trying to ease her concerns over the missing third of their group, “Come to think of it, he’s probably getting drunk and having a hell of a time.” 

Hermione gave a wistful smile. She imagined the boy easily making friends with muggle locals and telling them watered down versions of the antics the three had got up to in their years at Hogwarts. The muggles he’d met would think it was all just the tall tales of a drunken teenager, with no clue that what he was telling them was in fact true and that there was a completely different world they weren’t aware of. 

“Why? What do  _ you  _ think he’s doing?” Harry asked, 

“I don’t know.” she said, “Telling people about all his heroic endeavours maybe?” 

Harry grinned at that too, 

“Which ones? Getting thrown about by a giant willow tree? Or getting trapped in a cave with a famous author who lost his memory? Fending off a werewolf maybe?”

They laughed a little, both thinking about their auburn-haired friend and the trouble they’d got up to together over the years. When their laughter gently faded away, they were left with the defeating quiet around them. No mumbled incantations from inside their tent. No radio. No Ron. His absence was everywhere. In the empty bed next to theirs, in the extra food they had left over, in a the vacant log by the fire where he always used to sit. The forest seemed bigger and emptier without him. Hermione heaved a heavy sigh and rested her head on Harry’s shoulder, 

“Do you think he’s ok?”

“Yeah. He knows now to take care of himself.” He replied with a nod, 

“I miss him.”

“Me too.” 

He wrapped an arm around her then, hugging her tight against him. Her hands clutched onto his jacket. He was the only thing she had left. Her parents were gone, Ron was gone, Draco was gone. One by one everyone she loved was leaving her and each day another bit of her heart broke away because of it. Maybe it was the locket that hung around her neck, just below the brooch, that made her feel this way. Or maybe it was hiding out in the woods for months on end with nothing but the trees and the river to keep them company. Whatever it was, Hermione wanted to keep Harry close. Only now she felt unworthy of his affection. Because after one glance at the blonde Slytherin tonight, her feelings for him came back in full force. Not that they went away, mind you. But she had tried her hardest to bury them over the last year. 

It wasn’t until the Boy-Who-Lived’s eyes fell on the brooch that she realised she’d been fiddling with it absentmindedly. His expression became much more solemn, 

“What do you think Malfoy wants with the Eye?” he asked, keeping his voice even, trying to hide his irritation. 

Hermione shook her head, her brow furrowed with concern,

“I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s for him anyway.” 

“Yeah, why’s that?” 

“They were angry with him. They wouldn’t be out there looking if it was just for him. It has to be someone else.” She replied, thinking it over, “If not You-Know-Who, then someone close to him. Has to be someone much more important than Draco.”

Hermione couldn’t stop thinking about what they’d overheard. Nott and Goyle were angry Draco didn’t have it in him to watch the little boy be killed. He had tried to stop it, they’d said. He had defied Voldemort. It gave her a glimmer of hope that maybe...just maybe he was still the boy she remembered. The boy who always made her laugh and had a bigger heart than he would ever let on. Maybe he  _ was _ just afraid of what would happen if he didn’t fall in line. The more she thought about it the more his actions and words seemed to line up.  _ What if I do something awful…?  _ She remembered his words in the hospital wing the last night she saw him.  _ Something I don’t want to do?  _ She’d felt his fear in Gallows End as if it were her own. In that moment it wasn’t that she was afraid for him because she cared for him. She was afraid for him as if  _ she was him _ , as if she was afraid for her own life, and afraid for his parents as if they were her own. She didn’t understand why she’d felt that way, maybe she was just reading his features and confusing his emotions with her own or maybe she just knew him that well. They knew each other better than anyone else knew them. They always had. It was like they were two wands with the same core. Different yet alike. 

“I saw tonight.” Harry ground out, “How you looked at him.”

Hermione sat up straight and rolled her shoulders back, her body tensing at the turn their conversation had taken as she prepared herself for the difficult exchange, 

“Harry, please, don’t.”

“Is what we have real, Hermione?” His voice was too quiet, almost a whisper, “Or are you just trying to get over him by using me?”

“Of course what we have is real! How could you even think that?”

Harry sighed, his mouth pressed in a hard line, his eyes fixed on the fire in front of them, his expression defeated, 

“I feel like you’ll never care about me the way you do him. You’ll never look at me like that, right? And if he was here now things would be different between us, wouldn’t they?” 

Hermione chewed her lip. His words ought to have come with anger and indignation, yet all that came out was hurt and acceptance. Like he thought there was no hope for them. Like he had already given up on them before things had a chance to go anywhere. 

It was so vastly different to the other boy they were talking about; while Draco held on with an iron-like vice against the odds, Harry was letting go even though there was nothing in their way. 

An odd mixture of guilt and frustration overcame her, choking her with a lump in her throat. Just because she loved Draco didn’t mean that what she felt for Harry was any less real or valid. But being with him also didn’t mean that she could forget her love for the other boy either. Her feelings for each of them were complex. At times she couldn’t quite understand it herself, no matter hard she tried. It wasn’t as clean cut as one or the other. At least not under the circumstances they found themselves in. 

On parchment it made sense to be with Harry. He was good for her. The kind of boy her parents would have wanted her to be with. Although, now that he was questioning her reasoning, she couldn’t help but question it as well. Was she being unfair? Was she leading him on without realising it? A wave of guilt washed over her. Perhaps they had only come together  _ because _ of the war. As if in a way the constant threat of immediate death may have pushed them together. And indeed things might have been different if Voldemort had never returned. Maybe then she would have been with Draco instead of him. Then again, she and Draco had had every opportunity to be together when they were still in Hogwarts yet nothing ever happened. A few kisses here or there and a handful of pained declarations of their love for each other and that was all. The fear of the repercussions were they to be found out was too great for them. Particularly for Draco; at best he would have been cast out of the Malfoy family, at worst Bellatrix may very well have killed him. She had killed other family members for the same sort of thing before. 

“I love both of you.” Hermione admitted, her lip trembling as tears filled her eyes, “In different ways. For different reasons. But I’m here with you and  _ that’s _ what’s important. That matters, Harry.” 

His green gaze met hers then. In that moment they were so close, sitting side by side, and yet so far apart, 

“Then why do I feel like you’d always choose him over me?”

Her brows pulled upwards and her face twisted into one of remorse. There was no reply. Only her torn expression and the apology that hung in the air around them. How could she even answer that? 

“Right.” Harry said, standing up and brushing dirt off his jeans awkwardly, “Well, I’m gonna head to bed. And you..?” He paused, “Are you coming or...?”

Hermione shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes, 

“I’ll be in, in a bit.” 

He nodded and made his way back to the tent without another word. The young witch blew out a shaky breath as she sat, unmoving, on the log and warmed her hands by the fire. An unforgiving loneliness gripped her as she watched the flames dance and the wood burn away. Everything was falling apart. Feeling overwhelmed, Hermione took the vial from her pocket and downed the potion in one. Her mind cleared, her emotions calmed, her body relaxed. Her worries melted away. Not all of them. The locket still had its grip on her. But she felt lighter now. The Draught of Peace was her only comfort at times like this, when she felt utterly lost and completely alone. 

_ You can’t use the Dark Lord’s name anymore.  _

__ His lovely voice was back inside her head. Hard and cold like glass, and music to her ears. Hermione closed her eyes, imagining he was here with her now, his arms circling her from behind, her head against his chest, his head resting on hers. 

_ It’s Tabooed. If you do they’ll be able to trace you. No matter what kind of enchantments you’re using.  _

__ When it started she thought she was going mad, but she knew it was really him now. Only he would know these things. Only he had eyes and ears inside Voldemort’s ranks. Only he could provide this kind of information the way he was. He was helping them. Even now. Even though he was terrified.

_ They’re getting impatient. Tried using Veritaserum on all the students at Hogwarts to get information on you three.  _

__ “What?!” She breathed, in horror. Not that he would hear her. 

_ Don’t worry. I took the antidote beforehand and kept them out with Occlumency. How do you think I’ve managed this far?  _

__ “Makes sense.” She mumbled to herself, “If anyone could keep them out it’s you.”

_ They’re relentless, Granger. You have to lay low. Let them think you’re already dead.  _

__ Hermione rolled her eyes at that. Oh, yes, she would just hide away and turn a blind eye while Voldemort took over the Wizarding world! As if she had a choice. She had to fight, she had to keep going. There was no other way out of this. 

_ Please. Don’t be a hero.  _

He was pleading with her now as if he had read her mind. He hadn’t of course -she would have felt it if he had. He just knew her too well. 

_ Just hide away and grow old.  _

__ The words echoed in her mind before fading away, taking his beautiful voice with them. 

“Merry Christmas, Draco.” She breathed as she gazed up at the night sky. 

The stars would always remind her of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this was a tricky chapter to write and I'm still not sure I'm 100% happy with it. I really tried not to make either of them out to be really nasty in this but I'm worried they might have come across that way anyway.
> 
> With the pair's history, I think Harry would have come to the realisation that she'll always love Draco no matter what and he's trying to deal with that reality without ruining their friendship. This is effectively Harry bowing out because he feels like Hermione is settling with him, however he still very much has feelings for her. Also I don't see Hermione as having deliberately led him on or anything; she genuinely has feelings for him and she also has feelings for Draco, but doesn't think that could ever work given the way things are. 
> 
> I like to think it's a more realistic love triangle, where Hermione is still pining after a lost love and knows who she really wants but doesn't have that option so she chooses to be with Harry instead. I see her relationship with Harry more of a kind of admiration love than a romantic love and she's confusing the two -like she loves him so much but it's more worship-the-ground-he-walks-on, wants-to-be-him kind of love. She's just too young and inexperienced to tell the difference. 
> 
> Anyway, sorry for that really long weird explanation. I hope it made sense and the character's aren't truly awful in this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading x


	9. The Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Snape continue their efforts to help the trio, Astoria questions him on his unusually secretive behaviour and the young Death Eater finds a way to get what he really wants -even if it's not real.

* * *

_ Between the wars we danced _

_ Between the wars we laughed _

* * *

_ January _

“What’s so important about this bloody Eye, anyway?” Draco snapped, running a hand through his hair as he paced the chamber. 

It was a hidden room full of dusty old books and magical items, concealed with cotton sheets and other fabrics. There was nothing else in the room besides clutter, and no-one came in here unless they didn’t want to be found; it was the perfect place for fervent teenagers to have a few moments to themselves -as he knew all too well from experience- and the perfect place for Death Eaters to discuss troubling developments for their ‘cause’. Not that he gave a damn what the Dark Lord or his Aunt Bella wanted, but he had to comply if he wanted to live. Even if his life wasn’t worth much anymore. Waking everyday to the fear of what was to come or what new cruel thing he would be asked to do next, was better than not waking at all. Nothing else mattered. As long as he could open his eyes and breathe air into his lungs that was enough. As long as his parents and those he loved were alive also, it was enough. It had to be. He didn’t want much. If he got to exist he considered it a victory now. 

“Given the nature of the Eye, it’s only fair to assume that your Aunt Bellatrix wants to use it as a weapon for the war effort.” Snape drawled, with his hands behind his back. A calm and brooding air to his presence. As if the boy’s current problem was both boring and frustrating to the Headmaster.

“You do realise that we’re all dead if we can’t find the thing?!” Draco growled, kicking over a large, enchanted globe which fell to the floor with a clatter.

He was too angry to notice that it landed on a pile of heavy velvet pooled on the stone floor, pulling more of the material down from where it was draped over a giant ornate frame that rested against the wall. He had more pressing matters on his mind than whatever blasted thing it was he’d knocked over or the large mirror he’d revealed from its hiding place beneath the thick fabric. Almost four months ago, Bellatrix had come to find the magical item of immense power -which she had acquired last year from a wizard she’d murdered- had been taken. Her trinket had previously been kept in a locked jewellery box in Malfoy Manor and now she was adamant that it was the Malfoys' responsibility to find it. Lucius had roped in the Goyles and the Nott’s to help through the use of blackmail. His father had some dirt on the two families, what that was Draco didn’t know, but it was enough for them to begrudgingly agree to join the hunt for the Eye. 

“I am aware, Malfoy.” Snape breathed a tired sigh, “As it happens....I’ve heard word that the Eye was given to Mundungus Fletcher by a house-elf. Mundungus then sold it to a witch in Knockturn Alley...where it later landed in the hands of Giovanni Eckhard.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed as he thought about that, wondering why the old wizard would need such an item. The man was ancient. He hardly had any time left in him anyway, there wasn’t much of a future for him to see and certainly not to risk his life for. Then it dawned on him. Eckhard didn’t want it for himself. He must have been planning on giving it away. 

“He’s a member of the Order, isn’t he? Or was anyway, before it went down.”

Snape gave a curt nod,

“It’s believed he intended to give it to Potter.”

“Why? It’s cursed. What good would it do?”

“Many people don’t know, unlike most cursed items, the Witch’s Eye can be mastered. Provided it deems the user worthy it is not only a powerful and dangerous weapon, but also has prophetic abilities as well. I would imagine dead Bellatrix is keen to either use it herself or give it to the Dark Lord as a means of pleasing him.”

He grimaced. As if the old bat didn’t already have enough dark magic at her disposal. Draco hated his aunt. Not just for what she had done to him, not the pain and the scars she had inflicted upon him, but the way she broke everyone around her. Ever since the escape from Azkaban, she had brought a darkness to their world. Her name conjured images of blood splattered floors, terror-filled screams and piles and piles of cold, limp bodies. Within a month of her first arriving at the Manor with the Dark Lord two summers ago, his mother and father had become ghosts of themselves. Narcissa almost never truly smiled anymore and his father was a jittering mess, even more so than Draco. His Aunt Bella took pleasure in it. Her eyes twinkled with excitement with every opportunity to cause harm to others, and her deranged cackle sent a chill down his spine. 

He could hear it at night sometimes. Another hallucination. One that sent his heart racing, his hands trembling and made his stomach nauseous. It usually took at least half an hour after hearing her manic laugh ringing in his ears before he could calm himself. Often he would endure thirty minutes, if not more, of feeling like he was  _ dying _ with panic thanks to that woman and her terrorisation of his family. And now the old crone had the nerve to demand he look for her lost trinket! He prayed she got what was owed to her.

If anyone could take her down, it was the Boy-Who-Lived.

If the Eye had found its way to Potter then he may be able to use it to his advantage. However that was assuming Potter knew what it was or what to do with it. Even with  _ her _ at his side, it was unlikely they know much about this kind of magic. Black magic wasn’t something any of the Golden Trio meddled with, they probably wouldn’t have a clue what it was or how powerful it could be. Not when it was already shrouded in so much mystery amongst the greatest of dark wizards. Worse, if they used it without knowing what it was, they could be doing more harm than good. Having the Eye with them would also make them more of a target then they already were. Half of the wizarding world was already out there looking for the three friends and now Bellatrix had him and others looking for this bloody glass ball as well. If Potter did indeed have it, it increased their chances of being found tenfold. 

And if the Malfoy’s didn’t find it it increased their chances of being brutally murdered at the hands of the crazed witch. Crushed beneath her heel as if they were nothing more than filthy cockroaches. 

“Does he have it? Potter, I mean?”

Snape leaned back to rest against a table covered in more magical items, artefacts and books, all hidden with another ivory, cotton sheet. He had his hands cupped together in front of him as if he were about to partake in prayer -Merlin knows they bloody needed it- and his dark eyes were devoid of emotion. His entire expression was completely controlled, giving nothing away. No concern, no annoyance, no hope. Nothing. Only indifference.

“Eckhard was last seen giving the item to Miss Granger at a London train station last June.”

Draco’s eyes went wide at that, his brows raised in surprise. The Witch’s Eye had been missing all that time and no-one knew. Aunt Bella had only noticed her prized possession had been stolen in November. A full five months after it had actually been taken. How was that possible? There must have been more to it. His aunt wouldn’t have been outwitted so easily, and by a house-elf no less. There must have been others on the inside. If they already had allies amongst the Death Eater ranks, they needed to find out who. It was going to be a difficult task. 

“Dammit.” Draco sighed, folding his arms across his chest 

At the beginning of term, his school shirt would have been pulled taut against his arms with the movement -as it was tailored to fit perfectly- and now there were loose, limp folds in the fabric already. He was wasting away. He needn’t worry about the Dark Lord or his Aunt Bella at this rate. 

“Well, what do we do then? We can’t exactly lead Bellatrix right to it, can we? Because we’ll be leading them to  _ her _ ...and Potter.”

“No, we cannot.” Snape agreed, “It may be best to lead them on a false trail.” 

Draco looked at him incredulously. The Headmaster was completely serious. Of course, he was confident they’d be able to fool everyone. He had gained the Dark Lord’s loyalty and been his right hand man for a number of years, all while actively working against him. Draco knew if anyone could lie to Voldemort it was Snape. That didn’t mean it was a good idea though. Snape had lost his family years ago, his mother and his muggle father were long dead. He had no friends, nobody he loved. In fact the Malfoys were the closest thing he had now to a family and Draco was almost certain he didn’t truly care about them. They were allies in Snape’s eyes and nothing more. He didn’t have people to lose. Draco did. If they were going to play games with the Dark Lord, they needed to be careful, they needed to have the upper hand. 

“And when they find out it was us? Don’t be an idiot!” the boy snapped as he tried to think how they could possibly get out of this mess. 

“Mind your tone, Malfoy. I have little patience for it.” Snape replied with a warning. 

Draco wasn’t listening to him, not really. He was thinking. Then it hit him. 

“What about a fake one? A replica of sorts? Would that work?” 

“It’s possible. Few people have seen a real Witch’s Eye. Belltrix would know instantly of course, as would the Dark Lord, but it’s unlikely any of the others would be able to tell.” 

The young Slytherin smirked. It was a plan at least. The fact that the Eye had been missing so long unnoticed was evidence that Aunt Bella could be fooled. He didn’t need to pull the wool over her eyes forever, just long enough to draw them away from Potter and the others, and give them time to escape. 

“They would think we didn’t know better.” he muttered excitedly to himself, “That it was just a mistake…”

“Do you think Bellatrix won’t kill you over a mistake?”

“Of course not! Aunt Bella would kill us if we didn’t buy the  _ right bloody tea. _ ” He replied vehemently. 

Snape made a sound, and Draco swore his godfather was stifling a laugh. Though no one would have known that from his deadpan features. 

“This could buy us time.” the blonde haired boy said with certainty as he gazed up at his mentor, icy grey eyes alight with determination, and locked on the man staring back at him, willing the man to help him with his latest endeavor. Snape gave one silent nod and that was all the boy needed. The smirk broke into a full, smug smile. 

“I’ll get to work on making the replica.” Snape said as he made his way, slowly and decidedly, towards the chamber door. He turned on his heel then, his black robes whipping against the air with the sudden motion, “And Malfoy...you must stop Cleiromening with Miss Granger.”

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets, rolling back and forth on his heels and looking his Headmaster dead in the eyes,

“I’m not.” he lied easily.

“You are going to get that girl killed.” 

The boy inhaled a little too deeply at that, his breath caught in his throat. He tried to hide it by giving a lazy, half-shrug and shaking his head, 

“I haven’t done anything of the sort. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

For the first time since they entered the room, Snape’s expression changed. His eyes became dark and his face pulled into a look of repugnance. There was something else in his features too, a kind of sadness. 

“You may think yourself clever, Malfoy. That with your many tricks and your lies, you are protecting her, but you’re not.” The words were bitter as he spoke them, “With every word, every encounter, you are in fact endangering her further. If you want to keep her alive, leave her be.” 

“Yeah, because you know all about it, don’t you?” He snarled, turning his head away from the man in front of him. 

How dare he?! Draco was doing what anyone else would; helping her. His best friend, the girl he loved. He couldn’t do much but he’d be damned if he was going to let her do this on her own, not when he had knowledge of planned attacks and a way to warn her. If he did nothing and she died, it would be on him. All he was trying to do was do some good for once and Snape was berating him for this as well. He couldn’t win. 

“I  _ do  _ know.” Snape said, his face twisted in an ugly sneer, barely containing his rage, “I was in your shoes once.” 

Draco rolled his eyes in disbelief. 

“A follower of the Dark Lord in love with a muggle-born.” Snape scoffed at his own foolishness while Draco’s head snapped up in shock, “I asked him to spare her. And he did…”

The blonde haired Slytherin couldn’t believe what he was hearing and he allowed himself for a moment to hope, 

“But she died anyway, protecting her son from him. In the end it was always doomed. I tell you this, Malfoy, as a warning. Don’t repeat my mistakes, lest you live with the same regret.”

His hopes were crushed and he felt a wave of guilt upon seeing the older man’s broken expression, his dark eyes gleaming with tears, 

“I’m sorry.” Draco replied, meaning it. 

Never once had he thought his Headmaster knew anything of his pain, and yet he knew it better than anyone else. 

Snape nodded and made to leave again, but Draco’s voice stopped him, 

“Who was she?” He asked, genuinely curious. 

The man did not turn around a second time, but bowed his head as he gripped the wrought iron handle of the door, 

“Lily Potter.” He said, quietly and left the room. 

Draco took a step back, stunned by the similarities in their circumstances. They were both Slytherins and Death Eaters, and they had both fallen for Gryffindor muggle-borns. Both girls had in turn fallen in love with a Potter. Lily with James, and  _ her _ with their very own son. He couldn’t shake the feeling that history was doomed to repeat itself and that she would end up dead regardless of what he did. 

“Clever.” 

He glanced up to find Astoria standing in the open doorway, her hands feeling the air around the entrance, then, satisfied she could pass through, she crossed the distance between them. 

“They were some powerful enchantments. Did Snape do that?” She had one arm folded across her chest and the other propped up, her chin resting on her palm in thought. 

Draco stormed over to the door and slammed it shut, before grabbing her arm in a death like vice, 

“What the hell are you playing at?!” He demanded to know, furious. 

She snatched her arm away and frowned,

“Well you’re always sneaking around the castle, I figured I’d find out why. But with all those privacy charms and protection spells I didn’t learn a thing. What  _ are _ you up to?”

“It’s business. Death Eater stuff.” 

Astoria turned away from him and hopped up to sit on an old, weathered oak dressing table. Her slender legs dangled over the edge. A smile played on her lips. 

“And why can’t you talk to me about it?” 

Her eyes were focused on a brass tool she had found on the table, lying on top of a pile of books. There was something in her voice he couldn’t place. He watched her intently as she fiddled about with the thing, trying to figure out what it did. She held it up to him quizzically as if he would know. He gave her a shrug to say he didn’t have the foggiest what the thing was for, then realised she was still waiting for him to answer her question,

“Because it’s dangerous.” 

“Hmm.” she nodded, slowly, “I feel like you’re hiding something.”

“I am.” He shrugged again, hoping if he was even half-truthful she’d take him at his word, “What else do you want me to say? There’s things I can’t tell you. I’d get you killed if I did.”

“Oh, it’s more than that though, isn’t it?” She said coyly, still smiling. Sweet and deadly. 

Draco forced a chuckle, 

“Yeah, you’re right. That wasn’t Snape at all! It was Raina Van Hegna Polyjuiced as him. You caught me.” 

That earned him a glare,

“Don’t mock me.” Her tone never changed, she was calm as ever, always level headed and always commanding respect, “Just talk to me. You’re alway so...reticent.” 

He sighed, realising for the first time in months what a prat he must have been. They had been together ever since that first day in the library. They’d shared their first kiss, on the very same day they met, in The Three Broomsticks after one too many drinks. Yet, after months of kissing in empty corridors and hiding away in dark classrooms to talk about their favourite books, their childhood familiars, their opinions on everything from music to the  _ Daily Prophet _ , he never really let her in. He’d come to know her so well. He knew she wanted to teach Alchemy when she was old enough or, bizarrely, become an Owlet trainer. He knew her favourite band was Animagus of Rage -a hard metal band consisting of two wizards, a witch, an animagus and a half-giant. He knew she loved her sister, although they fought often, and she could hold her drinks despite her age and petite frame. He knew she had a lovely singing voice and she liked to deride poetry in her spare time. 

In return, she knew only a handful of things about him. He never spoke about his childhood or his family with her, he never told her what he wanted to be, because what was the point? Draco was a Death Eater now and that’s all he’d ever be. Astoria knew he liked apples and Quidditch and potions, as did the rest of Hogwarts. But like everyone else, she didn’t know his inner thoughts or feelings, she didn’t know  _ him _ . Why he was the way he was, what he wanted deep down, his pain, his dreams. None of it. 

No, he couldn’t tell her everything, but he couldn’t keep shutting her out forever either. He cared about her, more than he’d ever expected himself to, and he didn’t want to lose her. 

“What do you want to know?” he asked, looking uncomfortable. 

She bit her lip and thought about it. In that moment, she looked so much like the girl he once knew. It happened now and then. Just the little things she did or said would remind him so much of her, and the memories would come flooding back with enough force to wind him. He scolded himself for comparing the two. It wasn’t fair. Astoria was more than just a reflection of the girl he loved, she was her own person and deserved to be treated as such. 

“You...you’re always looking off into the distance and talking to yourself. Like...like you’re seeing a ghost or something. You have  _ awful _ dreams and you look ill.” Astoria dropped her gaze to the floor this time, not wanting to make eye contact anymore, “I’m worried about you.” 

Draco’s face softened. He made his way over to her and lifted her chin with a curled finger, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes met his, searching his face for whatever it was she wanted to find. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips and pulled back, brushing her hair away from her face with a pale hand, 

“It’s...this life...Death Eaters...it’s a lot of pressure, that’s all.” 

“I can only imagine.” 

“I’m fine.” He forced a half smile. 

Astoria wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Their tongues dancing around each other’s mouths and hands wound in each other’s hair, he leaned against her hard enough to cause her to have to steady herself. Then, with one hand, she gently pushed him away. He looked at her in confusion. Astoria shook her head, dark curls whipping her cheeks. Without a word, he understood. It was only fair. They had done more than enough of  _ that  _ and very little in the way of actually talking. Or at least he hadn’t. He nodded in agreement and backed away, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets once again, 

“Ask away.” 

“What were you like? When you were little I mean?”

Draco scoffed, 

“An idiot. Thought I had the world figured out.”

“Everybody does.”

“Everything seemed so black and white back then.” He admitted, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he had much time to think about them. 

Regret welled inside of him as he thought about everything he had done in the past. The ways he had lashed out as a child, hurting everyone around him, would never be acceptable. It didn’t matter that he’d been hurt or angry or misguided by his parent’s beliefs, he’d been wrong about so much and through his own willful prejudice he’d done irrevocable damage. Draco couldn’t quell the self-loathing he felt as he thought about all the mistakes he’d made in his seventeen years. He’d truly thought he was right back then, that he was fighting for the greater good, that muggle-borns and marrying in muggle families would eventually eradicate the wizarding world, that magic would be lost. He’d truly believed the Dark Lord was magic’s only hope of not dying out and his family -and the Sacred Twenty Eight- were doing their part to keep their world alive. He was wrong. There was no difference between purebloods, half-bloods or muggle-borns. Magic lingered through generations and revived itself in the form of wizards and witches with non-magical parents. That, in itself, was proof it would never die out like he was led to believe. 

“I did a lot of bad things as a child.” he mumbled, eyeing her, waiting for her reaction.

_ And I’m doing even worse now.  _ He added, mentally. 

Astoria didn’t press him on what it was he’d done, she no doubt knew. Draco was renowned at the school for being cruel, for chipping away at people and playing on their weaknesses. Everyone called him a git and they were right to do so. He expected her to look at him in disbelief, to think he was feigning guilt, but instead she gazed back at him with understanding, 

“Dad always says,  _ ‘everybody does bad things, it’s whether or not they learn from them and try to be better, that’s important’ _ .” 

“He’s a wise man.” Draco replied, arms across his chest. 

“Are you? Trying to be better?”

The Slytherin boy was suddenly painfully aware of the Dark Mark on his arm. The answer she was hoping for wasn’t anywhere close to the truth, and he didn’t want to admit the shameful truth anyway, 

“I...I don’t really know how I can be.” 

It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie either and it would have to do. Astoria seemed to accept that. Her blue eyes were kind and knowing as she watched him. He could tell from looking at her she had a way of figuring people out and when she did she accepted them for who they were regardless of whether or not she agreed with their character. He felt vulnerable and oddly comfortable under her gaze, 

“Ok, then...” she said then, thinking about her next question, “Who was your first kiss?”

The words transported him back to the Astronomy Tower at the end of fourth year, after the Diggory boy’s memorial. He’d been so nervous at first, afraid he wouldn’t be good enough or he would mess it up, afraid she wouldn’t want him to kiss her because of everything he’d done and said, and that she’d shove him away. He remembered how her lips felt against his, how they lunged themselves against each other and grinned in between. He remembered wanting to do that for so long, always thinking he would never get his chance because Potter would steal her away. Though the memory was still fresh in his mind, it felt like a lifetime ago now or that it had happened to someone else and he was watching the whole thing through a Pensieve, or had imagined it even. 

The Dark Mark started to itch and burn. Instantly, Draco shook away the memory and focused on clearing his mind. He began counting the hidden objects -books, candlesticks, ornaments- in the room as a distraction. This was precisely why he tried not to think of her, why he tried to forget all memories of what had been, because if he thought about it for too long, it was harder and harder to compartmentalise his feelings and harder to keep the Dark Lord at bay. 

“I don’t remember.” he lied, his mouth dry. 

“Broke your heart then, I take it?”

He nodded once. There was no point in lying now when she was already so observant. 

“Broke hers too, I’m guessing. Everything kind of just...fell apart.” 

“Should I be jealous?” she was smiling again, teasing him, but there was a seriousness to her tone as well. 

“No.” he meant it, “There’s no chance of anything between us. Trust me.” 

“That’s good to know. Alright, if you could be anything else...no Death Eater duties...no N.E.W.Ts, no Malfoy reputation to uphold.” she winked at him then and he couldn’t help but smile back at her; she was such a character, “What would you do?”

It wasn’t something he had thought about. He’d known for as long as he could remember he’d be a Death Eater one day, following in Lucius’ footsteps, but he realised if he’d had the choice he’d have wanted a quiet life. He wasn’t cut out for this level of danger and brutality. He wasn’t brave and, despite what his classmates thought of him, he wasn’t wholly uncaring or bad. He had a goodness in him, that much he knew, but unlike Potter he was always too afraid to act on it. Being an Auror was out of the question then. 

“I don’t know...maybe Potions professor at Durmstrang, or an Astronomer. A bookshop owner maybe-” that got a laugh from the girl, 

“You, a  _ Malfoy _ , own a bookshop?!”

He shrugged, 

“You said forget about my family's name and reputation, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but why a bookshop?”

“I find them calming.” He admitted, uncomfortably, “It would be a quiet life. No one would bother me.” 

Astoria laughed again and hopped down from the table she’d been sitting on. She planted a kiss on his cheek and said, 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“It was bloody awful.” He replied, completely serious. 

“Anyway, my free period is over and I’ve got to get to class. Are you coming?”

He made to leave with her but then something caught his eye. Draco stopped in his tracks, 

“I just remembered I told Goyle I’d meet him in the courtyard for Quidditch practice before our next class.”

A look flickered across her face and he wondered if she could tell he was lying. If she did, she didn’t let on. 

“Ok. I’ll find you later then.” She said and walked away. 

He waited for the door to close behind her and used a non-verbal spell to lock it to prevent anyone else coming in. He didn’t have long before his Transfiguration class, only half an hour in fact, and while he should have used that time to get something to eat because he had missed lunch  _ again,  _ instead he stalked towards the large ornate frame and pulled down the thick, purple velvet, letting it fall to the floor. 

Draco staggered backwards, almost falling over in shock at what he saw reflected in the mirror. He glanced around the room, thinking it was another apparition, and found no-one there but him. The glass of the mirror was dirty with dark smudges here and there, suggesting it had been around for a very long time. He heard Potter talking about a magical mirror once in first year when he’d been eavesdropping on the boy -while the famous trio had been in the hospital wing. He’d gone to check on her, it was merely luck that he’d happened to listen in on their conversation. Potter had told them about the mirror and how it reflected a person’s deepest desire. The Mirror of Erised, he’d called it. Draco’s rival had been under the impression that Dumbledore had gotten rid of it after he’d found it, but apparently not. Or maybe the Death Eaters had found and reclaimed it. The mirror’s reflection offered him what this life could not, tantalisingly real and yet just another vision that would fade away as soon as he moved out of sight. 

There he was, smiling happily, standing beside the girl with brown eyes and bushy hair. She was looking up at him under long lashes and smiling that beautiful, tight-lipped smile of hers, like they’d just shared a secret joke and didn’t want anyone else to know about it. This version of him looked healthy too; no dark circles or sunken eyes, no gaunt limbs and ill-fitting robes. His skin was bright, his eyes alight with mischief and his body looked as strong as it had in fifth year, before Lucius was imprisoned and the Dark Lord took over his household. Her hand was in his and it was then he noticed that his sleeves were rolled up and his arms were bare. There was no Dark Mark. In this reflection of his deepest desires, he’d never become a Death Eater. Never fixed the cabinet, never brought Voldemort’s followers to Hogwarts, never plunged the world into war. Lucius and Narcissa came into the frame then, his father placed a hand on his shoulder, his mother put her hand on the girl’s beside him. They looked down at them  _ both  _ with pride. Draco sucked in a breath and touched the mirror. The young witch smiled brightly at him -not the version of him in the mirror beside her, but the real him standing outside it. 

Reluctantly, he tore himself away and hurried to his next class, knowing without a shadow of a doubt, he would be back later tonight. And tomorrow and the next day. He would come every day to sit in front of the mirror and gaze upon what would never be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's a lot of focus on Draco and Snape at Hogwarts but I honestly love the parralels between these two, especially in a world where Hermione and Draco are more than enemies because it is so like the Snape/Lily pairing in so many ways. Also there's some sub plots going on here as well, no massive ones but still ones I wanted to include. 
> 
> Later chapters (from chapter 11 onwards) will have a lot of Draco/Hermione though. This is just the build up. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you liked it x


	10. No Excuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having revealed a long-kept secret to Harry, the pair have now fallen out. Ron has returned to turmoil and he and Hermione have a heart to heart about her relationship with both Harry and Draco. Hermione shares a startling revelation with Ron about Harry.

* * *

_Making it up as we go along,_

_Who's to blame when nobody's wrong?_

* * *

“You’ll have to talk to him eventually, ‘Mione.” Ron finally said with a tired sigh. 

The young witch slammed her book shut and glared at the auburn haired boy who sat on the log opposite hers. He’d returned just in time for the worst fight she and Harry had ever had. The Boy-Who-Lived has long retreated to the confines of their tent and was currently trying out spells with his new Blackthorn wand. His own had been broken back at Godric's Hollow and he’d been borrowing hers for a few days until Ron finally returned. The wand hadn’t really taken to him yet though. Even after all this time, every spell or charm was clumsy.  _ At least, he’s not biting our heads off anyway.  _

“No, I won’t!”

“He didn’t mean it; you know what Harry’s like. It came out wrong.” 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and the rage pumped through her as she remembered Harry’s words the night she told him about the Taboo. It was a few hours before Ron returned when Hermione had sat him down to tell him the truth. There was no way she could lie about it. At least not this. Before, when Draco told them only where to hide and where silver-masked foes were lurking, it was easier to feign innocence. To pretend it was little more than her acute intuition at work. But she could hardly get away with telling him she had a _ feeling about  _ Voldemort’s name being Tabooed. It was completely absurd and there was no way he’d believe her. When she explained how she knew about it, he was livid. Furious that she hadn't told him she’d been hearing Draco’s voice this entire time. Furious that the Slytherin was communicating with her. Furious that she believed the other boy when it could have easily been a lie. Their argument had turned ugly quickly, with old issues that were already laid to bed being brought up once more. Harry told her he felt like he didn’t know her anymore because she was always keeping secrets -like hiding her friendship with Draco all for years until he caught them kissing on top of the Astronomy Tower after Cedric’s death. And in turn Hermione found herself balling her hands into fists and asking if he’s so trustworthy why did he kiss Cho in the Room of Requirement and lie about it for weeks and weeks on end. It was the worst row they had ever had. If he’d been wearing the locket at the time, maybe she could have forgiven him. But he wasn’t. The locket was around  _ her _ neck and every horrible thing he said to her was all  _ him _ in that moment. His words echoed in her head, razor sharp and full of resentment.  _ Don’t be ridiculous! He’s obviously lying!  _ He’d yelled, his green eyes lit with hate.  _ It’s a ploy to lead us right to them, no doubt.  _ If he’d left it at that she wouldn’t have minded as much -she never expected Harry to trust Draco anyway- but he didn’t leave it there. He carried on.  _ Or he just wants to get into your knickers if he gets the chance and you’d bloody let him too!  _ She felt her cheeks burn and her hands tremble with rage as she thought about his words.  _ Doesn’t matter that he’s the enemy. Honestly, Hermione I’m beginning to think you get off on it! Tell me, did you ever hear him when we were in bed together?! Were you imaging him?!  _ With that she had slapped him, hard, across the cheek. Almost as soon as she did, Harry realised what he’d done. The young witch had a long fuse, and there was a lot she would easily forgive and forget, however her fuse also had an extremely explosive end and there was no telling what she’d do if pushed hard enough. God knows she’d put up with a lot of nasty remarks from Draco over the years, but even  _ he _ knew now to draw the line at crude comments like that one.

The blonde Slytherin had learnt his lesson a handful of times before. First at the Yule Ball with Krum then again with Cormac McLaggen last year. He’d made a similar comment when he’d found she’d taken the lad to Slughorn’s Christmas do. Of course, she’d only done it to make him jealous because he was being horrible to her. While she’d hoped she would see her with Cormac and come to his senses, all it had done was make things worse. Looking back now she understood why. By then, he was already a Death Eater and just being around him put her in danger. All her little plan had done was make him angry, and as expected he’d lashed out with a vile comment about her, not unalike Harry’s. Hermione had hit him too back then. 

Calling her names was one thing, but treating her like a common tart was unacceptable. 

She had not spoken to the dark-haired lad since. If she did speak, it was only to Ron. Her blood boiled every time she saw Harry. The tension between them hung in the air like a thick fog, clouding their better judgement, 

“You know what he said to me! He told you!” 

“I know,” Ron replied, his elbows on his knees and hands cupped together as he eyeballed her from across the fire, “and he was out of order -a hundred per cent- but he was upset. You know how much he hates Malfoy.” 

The young witch huffed, 

“Hmph, it’s no excuse.”

“He’s just worried about you, that’s all. He doesn’t trust him.” 

“Well, I can take care of myself.” 

Ron blew out a breath, a visible cloud of white against the cold escaped his lips. His face was serious and full of concern, making him look uncharacteristically mature,

“I thought you two were together. Don’t you want to work this out?”

“You can’t have a relationship without trust, Ronald. Clearly Harry doesn’t trust me. Therefore, no, we’re not together. Not anymore.”

“Does he know that?” His voice was low, quiet as if he was afraid to annoy her further, 

Hermione opened her book once more and tried to focus on the words in front of her. Though despite reading the words over and over, she couldn’t take them in, she was too angry and too much aware of the boy a few feet away from her, watching her with furrowed brows, 

“I would imagine it’s rather obvious.” Came her terse reply. 

Ron sighed, 

“It’s gonna be like bloody fifth year all over again, this is.” 

When she looked at him again, her expression was full of guilt and regret. He was right. Things were awful after she and Harry broke up the last time. They could barely speak to each other for the first few weeks and planning things with Ron -like Hogsmeade trips or evening get-togethers at Hagrid’s- were nearly always painfully awkward. They ought to have known better this time around. Harry shouldn’t have kissed her and she shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did. Not when they all knew she was still foolishly and wholeheartedly in love with Draco. And not when they were on the run for their lives from a damned fascist and his neo-Nazi army for crying out loud. Things were already horrid enough as they were without the added complication of fanciful teen romances. 

“How did you find Bill anyway?” She asked out of the blue, half-curious but mostly grasping for something to talk about that would take her mind off Harry and hopefully ease the tension around them. 

Ron’s face lit up at the mention of his brother. He told them he’d found Bill and learned through him that the Weasleys were alive and well at the Burrow. That they’d stayed there after the wedding and after intense questioning from Death Eaters. They had evaded capture by making Bill drink a Polyjuice potion, disguising him as Ron. They’d plucked a hair from a comb he used and made a large batch. Every time the Death Eaters would visit, Bill would drink it and submit to interrogation. The older Weasley had told them the trio had got separated when fleeing the Burrow and that as far as he knew they were all on their own, with Harry taking off with Luna and Hermione taking off with Dean Thomas, hoping to draw Voldemort’s followers in opposite directions and lead them on a false trail, thus making them harder to catch. Through acting compliant, the Weasleys managed to keep themselves alive and out of trouble. When the Polyjuice ran out and they had no more of Ron’s hair left to make another batch, Bill left with Fleur for Shell Cottage and, when Death Eaters came again, they told them that Ron was sick with a horrible infectious disease. Oddly enough they believed it. It was genius really. The Death Eaters already thought Bill escaped the attack on wedding with his new bride, so they had no reason not to think it was Ron at the Burrow, and the older brother knew enough of the three friends to know what lies to tell and what truths to admit to to make it all the more believable. And because they’d already seen what they thought was Ron, they took the family at their word that he was truly sick -most likely because they didn’t want to get whatever he had. Hermione was honestly flabbergasted and thoroughly impressed by the deception as a whole, 

“I was in this little pub and, well, Death Eaters found me. They chased me down to these train tracks and this big, empty field. We were throwing curses at each other left and right. I’d learnt this brilliant spell in a book I’d been reading; completely blew them away, knocked them all out. And then I Disapparated to this beach -one Mum and Dad would bring us to during the summer, you know, cause we couldn’t afford a real holiday- anyways it was then I remembered Bill and Fleur were going to honeymoon on our Aunt’s cottage by the beach just like that one. So I went there.” He grinned, thinking back to seeing his brother again for the first time in eight months, “Didn’t expect to find him there, mind you. Couldn’t believe it when I did. Don’t tell Harry this, but I fainted when I saw them.”

Hermione couldn’t help the half smile that tugged at her lips at the thought of her best friend fainting outside his brother’s front door. 

“And they’re ok?”

“Oh yeah, everyone’s been really careful not to get into trouble.” Ron nodded, “Bill and Fleur are actually planning on leaving the cottage soon. They move around, you see. Not too much -they don’t want to raise any suspicion- but they make sure not to stay in any one place for too long either. I think they’re trying to avoid being there if it gets compromised. Plus the more normal they act the better it looks -like they have nothing to hide.” 

“That’s clever.” Hermione replied, the more they talked the better she felt. Her anger eased little by little and Ron’s visibly tense posture relaxed as well, “What about Lavender? Did you find out what happened to her?” 

The young witch had wondered about the blonde-haired girl more than once, hoping for Ron’s sake that she was alright. It would break him if anything happened to her. He truly loved their classmate and Hermione knew, deep down, part of the reason he’d left was to go and find her. It had killed him not knowing what happened after the wedding. It was the whole reason he had lashed out at them that October night before he went away, he was angry at them for not having anyone to lose. In his words, Harry’s parents were dead and Hermione’s were halfway around the world, completely clueless. They didn’t have brothers or a sister like he did and they were dating each other so they didn’t have a boyfriend or girlfriend miles away from them to worry about. According to Ron, they’d landed on their feet and he was the only one left with everything to lose. It wasn’t true, of course, they all had friends in this -Luna, Neville, Tonks, Lupin amongst others- and the Weasleys were like family to both of them as well. He’d forgotten that they cared just as much as he did, even if they weren’t related to the Weasleys by blood, they were each as terrified of something happening to them as Ron was. Hermione didn’t want any of the three of them to lose anyone, she certainly didn’t want Ron to lose the girl he’d been in love with since fifth year. 

“Yeah.” He replied, looking relieved, “Mum said her parents sent her back to school. Told her to keep her head down. They want all the purebloods they can get on their side, so they’re safe unless they speak out against You-Know-Who. Mum says Lav is staying quiet.”

“I’m glad she’s alright. Really.” 

Ron grinned at her and she smiled back, 

“I’m sorry about what I said.” He glanced down at his feet, shuffling the dirt beneath his mud-stained sneakers, “About you and Harry not caring. I know it’s not true and I had no right. I was well out of order.” 

Hermione suddenly found the frayed hem of her weather-worn gloves very interesting, 

“We were so worried.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“If you ever - _ ever! _ \- leave like that again I will hunt you down and hex you myself.” 

He laughed at that, raising both hands in surrender, 

“I won’t even try to stop you.” 

She couldn’t help but laugh as well, not quite realising until that moment how much she’d missed him. He always had a way of finding a reason to laugh even in the darkest of times. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when he left; if Ron had lost all hope, what chance did they have? Without a word, Hermione got up from where she was sitting on the log across from him and made her way over to the friend who was so much like a brother to her, sitting down beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. He draped an arm around her waist and the pair sat like that for a while, watching the firewood burn and turn to ash in front of them, listening to the sounds of the river and the birds and the trees. 

“What about you?” Ron asked, dropping his arm and moving a little to face her, forcing her to lift her head to look at him, “How are you? Still having those nightmares? And drinking that Draught of Peace stuff?”

She took a deep breath and nodded, already knowing what his reaction would be, 

“Hermione! You need to get off that stuff. It’s not good for you in the long run.”

“I know. I know and I will. I’ve just been...on edge, that’s all.”

His face softened,

“And the dreams...are they...you know…” hr paused, carefully considering his words before they left his mouth, “Is it always Malfoy in them?”

Hermione sighed and glanced over her shoulder to check Harry was out of earshot. She could see him sitting by himself in the tent, practicing levitation spells. He probably couldn’t hear them from there and he was too engrossed in his charms anyway,

“Most of them.” She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, “Please, don’t tell Harry! He doesn’t know about that part of it though. He thinks it was just the one -that night back at Grimmauld Place.”

Ron pulled a face. He hated secrets. 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine about it.” He said, sarcastically, “It’s only Malfoy. He won’t mind a bit.” 

Hermione gave him a deadly serious look. It was bound to stir up trouble if he told him and they didn’t need another argument on their hands.

“Right.” Ron said, as if realising the potential damage revealing the truth would do, “It must be awful for you, all this. Knowing he’s out there, fighting for the other side.”

He never fully understood her feelings for their childhood arch nemesis. But unlike Harry, Ron at least accepted the way she felt. He questioned her reasoning whenever the conversation would come up. What was she thinking? What made her fall in love with Draco of all people? And she always answered him with the same reply; pursed lips and a frown, as if she didn’t quite have the answer herself. 

Hermione said nothing, but she felt her lip quiver. Her eyes filled with tears and her heart ached with the memory of him. Like a knife in her side, twisting and driving deeper with every flashback and every vision of what could have been. How much potential he had. How good they would have been together. She wished she could go back and change it all, help him before he got himself into this mess, convince him to fight against Voldemort and not align with him. Their last kiss and last goodbye replayed in her mind over and over, forcing her to relive their final moments with one another.  _ I know...I love you too. Goodbye Granger.  _ The image of him from that night was tantalisingly clear in her mind, papalable almost, like if she only tried hard enough she could reach him and take him in her arms. After all this time, she’d give anything for his embrace. A mere hug if nothing more. If it was all she was permitted she would happily take it. The gem wasn’t enough. The voice in her head wasn’t enough. Dreams weren’t enough. None of it ever would be, because  _ he _ wasn’t here with her, where he belonged.

“You really didn’t know, did you? Last year, about him being a Death Eater?”

“No.” She replied, her voice cracking, “I think I was in denial. I mean, after Katie was cursed it was so obvious. I-I just couldn’t see it.” 

Ron gave her a hug, rubbing her back with his hand as a quiet sob finally escaped her. A tear rolled down her cheek for every memory and her heart fractured a little bit more with every broken promise. She sniffled and rubbed her eyes, angry at herself for crying again. It was all she ever seemed to do these days, 

“I don’t get what you see in him.” Ron said, his expression immediately apologetic as if he expected her to be angry with him again, and she probably would have if she wasn’t too heartbroken to care, “After everything he’s done… _ before _ becoming a Death Eater, I mean. He was never nice to anyone, least of all  _ you. _ ” 

From across the river, Hermione watched a grey squirrel collect fallen chestnuts from the grassy bank and brought them up to its home in a large oak tree. The river crashed wildly against the rocks as the wind picked up and the sky above them turned dark. It was going to be another cold night. They would have to collect more wood soon if they wanted the fire to last them long enough to cook dinner. Harry and Ron had  _ Stupified _ some fish earlier and caught them in a makeshift net. It was enough to last then a few days at least. She didn’t agree with it one bit. The poor animals hadn’t even had a chance against their magic, but they needed to eat. With Ron back any supplies they could get from local shops were quickly depleted and it was too risky to go out now with Death Eaters not only on the hunt for them but also tracking the Witch’s Eye. Draco would let her know when it was safe, until then they would have to make do with what they had now. 

“It was an act. Most of it.” She replied after a long pause, “When we met, he didn’t know I was a muggle-born and I didn’t know he and his family were so-”

“Up their own arse?”

“Prejudiced.” She corrected, “We just got on. When he found out about my parents, my  _ blood _ ,” she rolled her eyes and shook her head at the memory, berating herself for ever giving the blonde haired boy a chance after the first time he used that word against her, “he pushed me away. He told me we could never be friends. His parents would never allow it. He was angry with me.” 

Ron’s brow furrowed deeply as he became irritated, 

“Like he thought it was my fault.” Hermione continued, “But then even after that we somehow remained close. Even when we hated each other. It was like we were always trying to rile each other up and get the other’s attention.” Arm wrapped around herself, Hermione couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable under Ron’s gaze, cringing at how foolish she’d been to ever think anything could come from their friendship, “I don’t know why we did it. We both knew there was no way. Yet we let ourselves care anyway. We were alike back then in a lot of ways. We both wanted real friends, I think, and we tried to find that in each other.” 

“But you had me and Harry.” He sounded almost hurt. 

“You didn’t like me at first though, remember? Either of you. You both thought I was a pompous, bossy, know-it-all. Malfoy...he liked that about me.”

The anger that once marred the boy’s face was replaced with a kind understanding. He lifted his face to the sky, taking it all in while she chewed her thumb nail. This was the most she’d talked about the boy in a long time. In fact the last time had been last year when Harry had become obsessed with finding out what the Draco was up to. Other than that she had hardly spoken about him and now that she was, the wound was torn open once more and all the hurt came flooding back. Every part of her heart she’d worked tirelessly to mend broke and broke again. The emptiness -the loss of him- filled her from the sockets of her tired eyes to her calloused fingertips and frozen toes. Making her feel hollow. Half-dead. Nothing could fill that void. Certainly a number of things helped; their mission, the war, the Peace Draught, books, Ron’s laugh, Harry’s kisses leaving a trail of fire on her naked flesh -before they ended things anyway. Yet none of it was enough. 

“Before I left…” Ron said, thinking back, “when I was wearing the locket, I-I  _ hated _ you and Harry…”

Her brow knit tight at his abrupt declaration. They all knew that blooming locket tricked them all into thinking the worst of each other, but that didn’t mean hearing the words didn’t hurt,

“You two had everything and...I was so jealous. I wanted to punch Harry’s face in every day,” Ron hung his head in shame, “and it felt good seeing you cry too. Knowing I’d taken you two down a peg.”

Hermione’s mouth hung open in horror at what she was hearing. With the way he’d been before he left, she was certain he’d no intention of ever coming back even if he was alive. She knew Ron hated them then, could feel it in her bones, but she buried it. Told herself she was being ridiculous. 

“I wanted to hurt you both, because you-you had each other and I didn’t have anyone.”

“Ron!” 

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I might not understand why you care about him or everything that’s happened between you two. But I think, after that anyway, I understand Malfoy a little better now.”

Hermione frowned, 

“What do you mean?”

“Just that it makes sense. I’m not defending him here, mind you. It’s just I guess...after the locket...I think I understand how someone might get that way, you know?” He looked at her intently then and there was a knowing in his face, maybe it was because they were both teenage boys, and boys that age often pent up their emotions until they spilled over in the form of unrelenting aggression, whatever it was Ron had clearly picked up on something she hadn’t, “He’s jealous. Of Harry and everything he has mostly. I think, anyway. He wanted to be his friend, right? Of course, Harry hated him right away. And he wanted to be your friend, but couldn’t because...the way him and his family think. For one Harry’s famous, everybody loves him, and you’re best friends. You two don’t have to hide, like you and Malfoy did. Then you and Harry dated too, which obviously pissed him off. I mean, yeah, he’s always been a git, but he was a grade-A prick in fifth year. Like he was trying to get one up on you two every chance he got.”

Her blood went cold as his words hit home. The memory replayed in her head, an echo of what once was that only became more vivid with every word...

_ “Heard Looney found someone else. Longbottom if I recall correctly.” The Slytherin prefect drawled as he arrived at their table in the Great Hall, “Must be tough, eh Potter? Having to find another girl mad enough to take you on.”  _

_ Before she knew what she was doing, Hermione snatched her hand out of Harry’s, heat rising to her cheeks under Draco’s penetrating gaze. _

_ “Actually Malfoy,” Harry replied, taking her hand once more, “I already have a new girlfriend.”  _

_ “Oh, yeah,” Draco hissed, his eyes like molten mercury, full of poison, “Who?” _

_ “She’s around her somewhere…” Harry smirked deviously, glancing around the room as if she wasn’t already sitting beside him, Hermione threw him a glare, furious he was being so childish and rising to the bait, “Right here.”  _

_ With that he landed a chaste kiss on her cheek, his lips brushing her porcelain skin innocently, yet he knew precisely what he was doing. Draco’s gaze promptly dropped to the floor. For a moment the mask was gone and all that was etched onto his ashen face was pain and humiliation. His blonde brows pulled tight as he blinked back tears. Then, without warning, all trace of human emotion vanished from his features. He glanced up again, meeting Harry’s arrogant expression with hard eyes. His face almost completely wooden as he built his wall back up. Hermione watched in trepidation whole the boy she’d fallen in love with faded away and the visage of Lucius Malfoy took his place. In this moment, he was every bit his father. Every bit the cruel boy he’d been three years prior. The boy who had her crying every night when their friendship first ended. The boy who taunted and bullied her relentlessly. The boy she punched in the face when she was thirteen.  _

_ Draco nodded once, his nostrils flared and fists clenched tight enough that his skin was taut against bony knuckles,  _

_ “Fantastic, Potter. Really, a  _ mudblood _? Why am I not surprised?”  _

_ Grey eyes darted to her then.  _

_ There was no pretending this time. No theatrics. He loathed her now and she couldn’t help but recoil, hands trembling from the venom in his tone. From his callous use of that foul word that he promised would never leave his lips again after their truce. How could this boy be the one who saved her from Death Eaters and yet could be so horrible? How could he kiss her one minute then refuse to speak to her the next? How could he leave her heartbroken and be furious when she found comfort in Harry’s welcoming arms? _

_ Hermione shook her head as she glared at the blonde. Whatever they had before was gone, and they were enemies again.  _

Tears stung her eyes as she came back to the present. Butterflies with razor-blade wings cut up her insides and barbed wire roped itself around her heart, choking her. Draco had been a complete bastard when she and Harry were first together and the pain was as fresh as it had been back then. An old wound that never fully healed, one she merely learned to ignore overtime. 

“What are you getting at?”

“If it was me, and I had to watch while you two -Harry in particular- got everything I wanted. If I was that jealous and angry already and everything fell into place for everyone else but not for me...I’d be a bastard too. I know I would.”

“Like you were when you were wearing the locket.” Hermione added and he gave a little nod, both of them in agreement he’d been completely awful, “There’s goodness in him, Ron. I know there is. I just think nobody bothered to notice it before. Or gave him the opportunity to be better.” 

“You did. Obviously.” Ron shrugged, “Though given the circumstances I don’t think there’s much hope for him now. Even if he wants out-”

“He’s in too deep, I know.” She hugged herself tighter now and rested her chin on her knees, a solemn expression on her face. 

Neither said anything for a little while; Ron blew out a heavy breath and gazed around him at the river and the trees, and Hermione stared absentmindedly at the melting snow by the fire. After a while he started humming and patting his knees to a tune she didn’t recognise -making it known he was very much uncomfortable with the prolonged quiet,

“Ron…?”

“Yeah?”

“The Witch’s Eye...Harry told you about it, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” He shifted in his seat now, uncertain where she was going with this. 

Hermione sucked in a breath, not wanting to say the words aloud and not wanting to see Ron’s reaction to her discovery,

“At first I couldn’t figure out why Eckhard gave it to me because there’s no way to use it unless you master it and-”

“You can’t master it without murdering someone. Right, I remember. What have you found?” 

“Eckhard told me to give it to Harry. And I think I know why…” she took another deep breath, still not looking at him, “Harry...he-he’s a Horcrux.  _ That’s _ why he keeps having visions.  _ That’s _ why he can hear them.  _ That’s  _ why it hurts him when another one is destroyed.”

At this he blanched, the colour draining from his face as he pieced it all together, 

“You think he could master it because of his connection to You-Know-Who. That whatever part of his soul is trapped in Harry must be enough to control the Eye.” 

Hermione nodded, “He told me I could use it too.” Her voice cracked and more tears toppled over, “And I think he meant for us to kill Harry.” 

The young wizard ran both hands through his fiery hair, tugging at it wildly. Then he glanced back towards the tent where their friend sat inside, still practicing spells. Hermione looked at Ron and shook her head, 

“We can’t...I know it means You-Know-Who will never be mortal, but we can’t…” she trailed off in tears. Heavy sobs wracking her petite frame,

“Hey, hey. We’re not going to. They’ll be another way. We’ll figure it out.” He held her close and planted a kiss on top of her bushy tresses. 

“I can’t lose him too. Not after everything, Ron, I just...I can’t.” 

“You won’t, ‘Mione. It’s not an option, ok? For one, Mum would kill me. Definitely loves Harry more than me, that bloody woman does.” He chucked to himself, “For another what would we do without him? Yeah, we’d have a normal year but it would be bloody boring, wouldn’t it?” 

Hermione sniffled and let out a little laugh,

“Thank you, Ron. I didn’t realise how much I needed to talk about everything.” 

“No problem. Anyway suppose I best go in and see what he’s doing with that wand. He’ll blow himself up if he’s not careful.” 

With that Ron stood and trudged back towards the tent, disappearing under the ivory cotton as the bushy haired witch turned back to her book. Her eyes made their way down one page after another, until finally she stopped dead in her tracks, brows furrowed tight once more.  _ There it is again.  _ It wasn’t a rune. That much was obvious. But then the question was what was it? What did it mean? The mark of another Order maybe? An alchemical symbol? The sigil of some kind of ancient magic they could use? Whatever it was, it was undoubtedly important if it kept cropping up. 

A loud roar came from inside the tent and when she turned around she could see it was alight with fire inside. Harry and Ron were shadowy silhouettes against the blazing brightness. Hermione got to her feet, wand out, and made her way to the tent just as the flames were extinguished, 

“What’s going on in there?” She called,

“Nothing!” came the two boy’s panicked replies in unison. 

She entered their makeshift home to find both boys sitting on Harry’s bottom bunk bed, both looking a little rattled, like they’d been doing something they shouldn’t have. 

“We need to talk.” She said, addressing both of them,

“Yeah, alright.” Harry replied, then turned to Ron, “Give us a minute?”

Hermione stared at him quizzically, “I meant both of you.” 

“Oh I thought maybe...um, I thought we could...you know…” The Boy-Who-Lived trailed off, his cheeks flushed.

“Maybe later.” She replied briskly, ignoring her churning guts at his crestfallen expression and the pang of guilt that made her want to vomit, “I want to go see Xenophillis Lovegood.” 

END OF ACT 1: THE HUNT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Harry's finest moments here, but they will make up. 
> 
> I have no intention of splitting the trio up for Hermione & Draco. I do think with the pressures of the war, the Horcrux manipulating them, a love triangle and Ron leaving when he did, things would definitely become tense between the three of them. 
> 
> Also a little explanation on the flashback; Draco and Hermione kissed at the end of fourth year. He was supposed to write her but didn't, and later turned up to Hogwarts with Pansy all over him. Harry comforted Hermione and that's how their relationship started so while it might seem like Draco's completely innocent here, he's really not. He was a prick at this point.
> 
> He had a reason for it though, which I may reveal in later chapters or maybe in a prequel if I can be bothered to write it. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed.


	11. Malfoy Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's worst fear comes true and he has to thread very carefully not to give himself away. Meanwhile Harry and Ron have to trust in the word of the former Slytherin if they want to save Hermione and survive.

ACT 2: DARKEST HOUR

* * *

_And if you could take it back, I know you would  
Won't throw me away when you know you should _

* * *

_April 27th 1998_

Draco kept his eyes on the black sapphire gem as it hissed nastily, over and over. It was the faintest of sounds yet now the sound seemed to ring in his ears, deafeningly loud and irritating. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, telling himself it would settle any moment. The snakelike sound always faded away to a quiet hum and silenced eventually. When she found somewhere safe to hide -and she would- it would ease and he would be able to breathe again. _Come on, come on!_ He thought to himself frantically. _Dammit, Granger, wherever the hell you are now, you need to get out of there!_ He stared at the ring, his hand trembling violently, he held his other hand over it to stop it but to no avail. His heart was pounding hard enough he could hear the blood pumping in his ears. Sweat trickled from his brow to his eyes, stinging them. Frustrated, he let out a deep growl and got to his feet, where he began pacing the room. He had a horrible feeling about this. The _hiss_ never lasted this long before, the encounters she had with Death Eaters and Snatchers were fast paced attacks and escapes, but this had been going on for over an hour and he dreaded to think what it could mean. He felt helpless. He knew she was out there somewhere fighting for her life and no doubt terrified and all he could do was pace his bedroom and stare at the four walls trapping him in place, like a spider in a glass jar. He ground his teeth and tried to focus his thoughts. Panicking would do him no good now; he couldn’t do anything anyway. Not here in this bloody place. 

It was then the door burst open and his mother stood there, a small smile playing on her lips, her eyes bright with hope and excitement. 

_No. No. No. No. No. No!_

“We think we’ve got them.” 

With those five words, Draco’s heart stopped for a moment and he fell back to sit on the bed, his shaking hand flew up to his mouth in horror, which Narcissa mistook for relief, 

“Come! Come, Draco! Bella needs you to identify them.” 

He blinked a few times to bring himself back to reality but it was a frail attempt. All he could really do was sit there and feel his skin go cold and the world closing in around him. He knew it was them already. That’s why the sound wouldn’t stop. He knew already that she was here. That Potter was here and all was lost. 

“Draco!” His mother called again urgently. 

He couldn’t speak, but somehow he found his feet and trudged along with her. His whole body was heavy with each movement, as if every fibre of his being was afraid to push him forwards towards the entrance of the drawing room. He entered the room behind his mother, and found his father standing beside Scabior and Greyback. Scabior had Weasley and Greyback had Granger. _Fuck! What am I going to do?! There’s no way out of this! There’s no way out of this!_ At the head of the room was Bellatrix, bent down and holding Potter by the hair, titling his face upwards for all to see. Draco kept his head down as he walked towards his father in the centre of the room, not wanting to look anyone in the eye, and especially not any of the Golden Trio. As he got closer he could see Potter had been hexed with a Stinging Jinx. The Boy-Who-Lived’s face was puffed out and contorted in an ulgy manner, his eyes like slits against his too-big face. The blonde knew right away it was her idea, a way to buy them time to maybe make an escape if they could. It could help him too. At least now there was the possibility of doubt, with which he could try to draw out the process just long enough to think of a plan. That is, if he could think at all. His head was a muddle of racing, panicked thoughts. In that moment, all he could think about was the tightness in his chest and the girl behind him. 

“Well?” Bellatrix asked, eagerly, as she smiled a crazed smile, bearing all her teeth. 

He opened his mouth to make a sound, but nothing came out. Draco cleared his throat and tried again, 

“I-I can’t be sure.”

Lucius’ hand was on the back of his neck in an instant, pressing him forward to look at the boy on his knees in front of him. Draco barely held back a sneer at his father’s touch. He absolutely could not give them up. He couldn’t do it. The Malfoy’s didn’t need all the glory and approval they once had, not if it meant sacrificing the girl he loved and the only wizard who could save them from this bloody war. No, the Malfoy’s had already made do for so long, they could skim by for a little bit more. He just needed to find a way to get them all -the trio and his family- out of this in one piece. 

“Draco, look closely, son.” Lucius’ breath reeked of liquor up close, and Draco could see the frustration plastered all over his father’s face, “If we’re the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord all will be forgiven.” 

Draco wasn’t listening to him, not really. He was more focused on watching the movements of Scabior and Greyback behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Greyback shove Granger to Scabior and move closer towards them. 

“A-all will be as it was. You understand?” his father was facing him now and the boy nodded despite himself, agreeing with Lucius out of habit and fear.

“Now we’re not forgetting who actually caught them, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?” Greyback growled. 

“You dare talk to me like that in my own house?!” Lucius’ barked back and Draco winched automatically, awaiting the blow to the face that often followed. Witnessing her son’s reaction, Narcissa moved quickly to pull Lucius’ away, attempting to prevent any violent outbursts of his. It wouldn’t do to besmudge the family name by beating his son in public, and anyway they had more pressing matters at hand. 

“Lucius!” Narcissa hissed, dragging him away. He gave Draco a weak smile and took his place by the fireplace. 

“Don’t be shy, sweetie.” his Aunt Bella said, sickly sweet, as if she wasn’t the reason for the scars on his back and torso, and as if she hadn’t caused all of his worst nightmares, “Come over.” 

The witch took his pale hand in hers and tugged him closer, until he was no more than a foot away from Potter. He knelt down so he could meet the gaze of the boy in question. When his icy grey eyes met the boy’s, he saw nothing but rage there. He hadn’t changed much in the last year then, even now when Draco was technically in a position of power over him, Potter had to act like he had the upper hand, like _he_ was the boss. Merlin, he was an annoying little prick. Nonetheless, now was really not the time for him to get wound up about it. 

“Now, if this isn’t who we think it is, Draco, and we call him here, he’ll kill us all.” Belltrix said slowly, her voice a whisper laced with threats, “We need to be absolutely sure.”

He searched Potter’s face, trying to gauge if his arrogance meant he had a plan. Probably not, that was always Granger’s job, wasn’t it? And she currently had Scabior’s arm around her throat, holding her in place. 

“What’s wrong with his face?” the blonde asked, unable to keep the quiver out of his voice. All he had to do was make the others question their own thoughts, make them doubt themselves long enough to think of something...long enough to cause a distraction and give the trio their out. It was no different to bullying the imbeciles at school. If he could use Potter’s jacked up face to make them think maybe it wasn’t him then they would hold off calling the Dark Lord. No one would dare summon Lord Voldemort if they were in any way dubious. He had to keep them tittering on the edge of that uncertainty.

“Yes, what is wrong with his face?” Aunt Bella asked, 

“He came to us like that.” Greyback replied, 

“Something he picked up in the forest, I reckon.” came Scabior’s voice.

This was it. If they just kept talking, everything would be fine. Draco watched Potter scan his face, whatever he was looking for Draco didn’t know and he hoped to Merlin he didn’t find it. His face had to be smooth, his expression unreadable, if they were all going to get out of this. 

“Or ran into a Stinging Jinx.” Bellatrix said, as the two boys stared each other down, “Was it you, dearie?” 

_NO!_ He screamed internally, as his Aunt turned her wand on the girl behind him. Draco tried to keep Bellatrix in his sight without turning his head, afraid to catch the girl’s gaze and give himself away. His head turned slightly of its own accord as Bellatrix moved towards Granger, but he forced himself back to look at Potter again. Draco gulped. His throat was painfully dry and his palms were sweating, he felt like he couldn’t breathe properly. He watched Potter’s nostrils flare with anger, his eyes lit with murderous intent. The dark-haired boy shifted as if to get up, but the magic binding him prevented him from doing so. The Slytherin had no doubt in his mind that if Potter hadn’t been bound he would have lunged for Bellatrix then, but instead he was forced to watch the woman who had killed his own godfather make her way over to his friend -who, by now, Bella would have known was a muggle-born. _Fuck!_ In his fear of what was unfolding in front of him, he had almost forgotten the most horrific part of all of this. It wasn’t just that they had Potter right in the palm of their hands and if they handed him to the Dark Lord, the war would be won and the wizarding world plunged into darkness once more. It wasn’t just that they had Potter’s two best friends along with him and they were all in danger, and it wasn’t just that with one wrong move Draco could get his entire family killed. No, the worst part of this was that Granger was here and she was a muggle-born. That alone was a death sentence. 

“Give me her wand. We’ll see what her last spell was.” Bella announced, getting up to find the girl’s wand.

Potter’s arrogance disappeared and he looked fearful for the first time since he entered the room. The two boys exchanged a look of concern. It was evident from Potter’s face that he was just as afraid as Draco was by the way his Aunt approached Granger. Their only common ground being that that both loved the same girl and didn’t want anything to happen to her. 

Narcissa’s fingers rapped his shoulder lightly, calling him away. He got to his feet and turned to face her, hoping his dear mother would provide some comfort and reprieve even for just a moment. 

“What about the girl then? That’s the Mudblood, isn’t it? The Granger girl?” she gripped his arm and turned him to look at the girl for the first time, leading him towards her until they were just a few feet apart. 

They hadn’t been this close since the night in the hospital wing. The night he had gone to kill Dumbledore. The night they shared their last kiss. He could taste the bile on the back of his tongue as his guts churned and coiled, knotted tight. Cold sweat made its way down the back of his neck. He didn’t want to look at her. Afraid that by doing so it would make this all the more real, afraid of what he would find in her expression, afraid to make this his last image of her. His last memory of them had been bittersweet, and it hurt to think back to those last moments with her, but he would rather think back to that than ever have to think back to this. 

Finally he found the courage to look at her. Draco’s eyes met Granger’s brown ones for the first time in a little over year and a range of emotions flickered across her face. None of them good. Fear, sadness, anger, hopelessness. She had cuts and bruises over her face -from the chase no doubt- and her features were smaller than he remembered them. He realised they had been on the run for months now, hiding out in the woods, so it made sense that she looked a little gaunt. But he didn’t like it one bit. He could only imagine what the three of them had endured. Her mouth was ajar at the sight of him, like she couldn’t believe he was really there. He felt the same. He couldn’t really believe she was here either. It was the first time he had ever hoped that this was a really ugly, painfully realistic hallucination. Draco watched Greyback press himself against her and sniff her hair, closing his eyes and letting out a dark chuckle as he did. Granger turned away from the man in repugnance, jutting her chin out in that prideful way of hers to show she wasn’t going to be intimidated. Damn that Gryffindor bravery of hers. The Slytherin boy’s fists clenched and his face was a half-fearful, half-angry sneer. It was obvious what the werewolf wanted to do with her. It made him sick to his stomach. 

“Isn’t it, Draco?” his mother urged, “It’s her, I’m sure of it!” 

“No.” The word slipped out without him meaning it to. He watched Granger’s eyes widen at his blatant lie. Weasley looked at the girl beside him, dumbfounded. 

_Draco! If you lie about this we will all die. You must say if it is her!_

Narcissa’s soft voice rang in his mind and he found himself throwing a glare in her direction. The tall white-haired woman backed up, taken aback by his animosity. He had never looked at her with anything but love and adoration before. Lucius was the one who got the glares and sneers, never Narcissa. He felt a pang of guilt and his expression became instantly apologetic. 

“I mean...I don’t know...s-she looked different…” he trailed off, trying to think of a believable excuse, but there was none. 

“Oh, come now!” Lucius spat, “It’s her! It must be! And that must be the Weasley boy,” he nodded towards the boy beside her, before turning towards the other boy on the floor, “and that _must_ be Potter.” 

“Well, we’ll find out when that jinx wears off, won’t we?” Bellatrix laughed, pointing towards Granger as she walked past her to the third Snatcher who was holding the wands in one hand and a sword in another. His Aunt came to a halt all of a sudden, her back to the rest of the room, and he heard her gasp in horror. “Where did you get that from?!”

“It was in her bag when we searched her.” the third Snatcher replied with a grin, “Reckon it’s mine now.”

Bellatrix threw a curse and blasted the third Snatcher out of the way, rendering him unconscious. The sword flew out of his hands in a silver flash and she caught it instantly before turning to Greyback and extending her wand into a long, black whip which wrapped itself around his throat, strangling him until he too passed out on the floor. 

“Are you mad?” Scabior asked, a second before she did the same to him, only instead of strangling him, she pulled hard on her wand, bringing him to crash down on the dark wood floor. 

Draco staggered back to stand beside his mother and father, afraid to get caught in the fight. He glanced at Granger across the room from him who was now free of her capture and panting, her chest rising and falling quickly. She didn’t look at him and instead kept her eyes on the wild-haired witch who had single-handedly taken down two men and a werewolf. Bellatrix screamed at the three men to leave and they didn’t need to be told twice. They exited the room hastily, clutching their throats as they tried to breathe properly again. The young Slytherin watched with dread as his Aunt stalked over to Granger and Weasley, taking hold of the auburn-haired boy and flinging him across the room, in the general direction of his mother, 

“Cissy! Put the boys in the cellar.” 

“No! No! Leave her alone! Take me!” Potter begged.

Narcissa did as she was told, gripping Potter and Weasley by the collar and dragging them down the hall where she would meet with one of the servants to take the boys to the dungeon. As they disappeared from view, Draco watched Bellatrix with bated breath. She was barely an inch from Granger’s face now, the younger girl backed up but never looked away from the woman in front of her. 

“I want to have a little conversation with this one. Girl to girl!” 

_Think! Think! Draco, think!_

Bellatrix had her wand at Granger’s throat. He wanted to move, to try even feebly to convince his Aunt to leave her alone, tell her she wasn’t worth the effort and it would be best to just lock her up if needs be. But his limbs were frozen with fear. 

“Now where did you get that sword? You be careful to tell the truth, Mudblood.”

“We...found it in a lake. In the woods.”

“No. You didn’t. You stole it. Didn’t you? What else have you taken?”

Draco knew what was coming and he knew he couldn’t just stand there and watch it. He moved towards his Aunt, mouth open and hand raised, about to ask her why the sword was so important, hoping to distract her away from the girl in front of them. Then the silver snake head of his father’s cane came down hard on his shoulder, he flinched at the impact and froze once again. 

_Tell her what she wants to hear, Granger._ He begged her using his mind. Her brown eyes narrowed and flickered to him, determination passed across her pretty features

“We found it.” Granger repeated again, more firmly this time as her eyes found their way back to Bellatrix, “I don’t know how it got there.”

“Lies! _Crucio!”_

The girl buckled in pain, falling to the floor and writhing in agony as her body convulsed. Her teeth were gritted and her eyes shut tight. At first she refused to scream, but with a twist of the older witch’s wand her back snapped up and a full-bodied cry of pain escaped her. Draco felt his own knees give way at the sound and Lucius came up behind him again to grip his arm and hold him upright, forcing him to watch. Once the first anguished scream was let out another one followed and another and another. His whole body went limp and he couldn’t keep back the tears any longer. He tried to blink them away and hung his head in defeat, not wanting to witness anymore and not wanting Lucius so see him crying over the torture of a muggle-born. 

Bellatrix released the curse and began to circle the girl lying on the floor. By now, Granger was panting and sobbing heavily. 

“You were in my vault, weren’t you? You little rat! How did you get in?!” 

“We’ve never been inside your vault!” Granger’s whimpered, “It isn’t the real sword…it’s a copy, just a copy.” 

“Oh a copy? A copy?!” Aunt Bella cackled, “A likely story.” 

“But we can find out easily enough.” Lucius chimed as he pushed Draco forward, towards the right of where the girl was lying on the floor, “Draco, fetch the goblin. He can tell us whether the sword is real or not.”

The blonde boy glanced back at his father with uncertainty. He didn’t want to leave her alone with them. Merlin knows what Bella would do. But then if he went down to the cellar himself, he could talk to Potter, concoct a plan. He left the room in a hurry, thinking the quicker he got down there the quicker he could get back and make sure nothing worse happened. He had no idea how to get them out of there. The Manor had been enchanted against Apparation months ago when Voldemort first decided to use it as his base and didn’t want his victims just teleporting away. There was no way there would be time for them to make a run for it even if they did manage to get free. They needed a portkey or...or magic that wasn’t bound by normal law. As far as he knew it was only house-elves who could come and go with no restriction…

Dobby! 

He remembered the house-elf his parents kept when he was a child. The house-elf who was loyal to Potter and had a deep love of Granger for her kindness towards him. This was it. This was what they needed to do. He focused his mind on the house-elf until he could see through the creatures beady eyes as he rummaged around through cupboards in a ruined old shack, looking for something. 

_Dobby! Come quick. Potter is in trouble. At the Manor. Hurry!_

Draco allowed himself to fully cry once he was out of sight of any other Death Eaters, he wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand and hurried down the stairs with his wand out. He could hear the voices coming from below, 

“What have to do something!” Potter exclaimed to the others,

“I know, Harry, I know.” Weasley sounded panicked

“Get back!” Draco made his voice hard and sharp, but anyone could hear it crack as he spoke, “Don’t try anything or I’ll kill you.”

He opened the cellar door and found the two boys inside, along with Luna Lovegood, Ollivander and Griphook. Potter lunged for him the moment he entered the room, but Weasley grabbed him and held him back, both boys wrestling for dominance over the other. Trust Potter to make this harder than it needed to be. Draco held his wand up and aimed at the two boys just in case.

_Alright Potter, I have a plan and you have to play along._

“What the hell?” Potter’s anger abated and he looked confused. The broader boy with auburn hair let him go and gave him a look of bewilderment, 

“What?” Weasley asked,

“I-I heard him. His voice inside my head. Just now.” He whispered back. 

_It’s Cleiromency, now listen. We don’t have much time._

“Wait, what? You mean like Hermione before?” Weasley said more to himself than to anyone else. 

Potter ignored the other boy and gazed at Draco instead, still seething but willing to listen anyway. 

_I’ve called Dobby here. He’s the only one who can Apparate you out of this place. He can take Looney and the others as well. Now I’m going to go back up and distract them. You make a ruckus…like you’re trying to escape. Mother will send Pettigrew down. Take his wand then come up and get Granger. Dobby will take care of the rest._

“Why don't I just fight you now and take _your_ wand?!” Potter ground out. 

_Listen, you ungrateful git! I’m trying to help you-_

Another terror-filled scream echoed throughout the manor. Draco felt sick. He covered his mouth with one hand to stop himself from throwing up with the adrenaline that was rushing through him, turning his stomach. 

“HERMIONE!” Potter yelled, looking like he didn’t know what to do with himself, he turned to Draco a moment later and gave him a nod. 

“You.” Draco pointed his wand at the goblin now, “Come with me.” 

Before the goblin could reach the blonde haired boy clad all in black, the Boy-Who-Lived grabbed the goblin and bent down to look into his eyes, 

“Griphook, you have to lie-”

Another scream. They had to hurry. 

“-you have to tell them it’s not the real sword.”

Griphook glanced towards Draco wearily, unaware that he was in fact helping aid their escape. Draco gave a nod to which Griphook frowned, doubting the Death Eater, 

“What makes you think he won’t reveal the truth?” The goblin asked, 

“He won’t. I know he won’t. We have a plan. Go along with it.” Potter told him and the goblin seemed to agree. 

“Tell me now or I’ll run you through with this knife!” Bellatrix’s voice could be heard from above and Draco didn’t want to waste anymore time talking. 

He grabbed goblin by his shirt and pulled him up the stairs, down the hall and back into the drawing room. When he entered the room, he found Bellatrix bent over Granger, her wild, black curls covering both their faces. His breath caught in his throat when he thought that he was too late. That she was dead. But then the crazed witch looked up with a malicious smile and he could see the rise and fall of the girl’s chest. She was still alive. With relief, he made his way towards them as Bellatrix stood and turned her attention to the goblin. Narcissa was back and called him over to her. He went. When he felt brave enough to glance down at the girl on the floor, he was heartbroken at what he found. Her arm was a trembling mess of blood. The word ‘Mudblood’ had been carved into her skin with the same enchanted dagger that had been used on him once. He knew, just from the dagger alone, that it would never heal. It would create an ugly scar and always be there to remind her what they thought of her. To remind her of her place. 

He fell back into the chair behind him, his legs unable to hold him any longer and stared at the word on her arm, regretting every decision he had ever made and trying to hide his sobs. Her eyes met his for a moment then she looked away as another tear rolled down her face onto the floor. She looked defeated. Broken. He wanted to scoop her up and hug her. Hold her. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not if he wanted to keep them all alive. 

There was a loud _thud_ and _crash_ from below and Lucius’ head snapped around towards the cellar. 

“What was that?” He asked making his way to the exit,

“No.” Narcissa pulled him back, “Get Pettigrew to go!” She turned to the spineless wizard with his dirty face and whiskers and nodded for him to check the dungeon. He scampered along without a word. 

“Well,” Bellatrix addressed Griphook now, “Is it the true sword?”

Draco glanced up then, watching the goblin carefully,

“No.” Griphook replied, “It’s a fake.” 

“Are you sure? Quite sure?” Bellatrix seemed to relax a bit, 

“Yes.” 

Relief washed over him and was mirrored in his Aunt Bella’s face. With a swish of her wand she sliced the goblin’s face and he recoiled, clutching his cheek as he glared after her. 

“And now we call the Dark Lord.” 

The blonde Slytherin’s eyes flickered to the entrance. _Where are they?!_ He wondered. They were out of time. If the Dark Lord came and Dobby wasn’t here to help them escape then it was all over. 

“And I think,” Bellatrix pointed her wand at Granger again, “we can dispose of the Mudblood. Draco, take this filth to the courtyard. Leave her for Greyback if you haven’t got the guts to finish her.” 

“Don’t you dare speak to Draco like that!” Narcissa snapped but the other witch ignored her. 

The boy quickly got to his feet and bent down to lift the girl off the floor. This was good. If he could get her out of the way, he could tell Potter and Dobby to meet him outside and avoid the Dark Lord completely. Voldemort would never see Granger or Potter. The Malfoys would be punished no doubt, but he couldn’t think of that right now. One thing at a time. He helped her up and she gazed up at him with uncertainty as she climbed to her feet weakly. 

_I’ve got a plan._ He told her as she clutched him tightly. Her light frame was heavy against his and he could tell she was leaning on him with everything she had because she wouldn’t have it in her to stand otherwise. Her breath was laboured and she was limping from the pain. They made their way towards the door slowly. He was careful not to rush her. He’d been under the Cruciatus curse enough times to know how agonising it was. Like every bone in the body was broken again and again while the flesh was peeled away. The pain would linger for days. 

Draco peered over his shoulder once and watched Bellatrix roll her sleeve up to reveal her Dark Mark, ready to summon their master, when Lucius’ hand came down on her wrist, 

“I will do the honours.” He said and unbuttoned his own shirt sleeve, pulling it back and placing his hand over the Mark. 

_Fuck! Fuck!_

He picked up the pace without meaning to and Granger let out a whimper beside him. 

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ Potter yelled as he and Weasley burst into the room. 

The curse hit Bellatrix and her wand flew into the air only to be caught by Potter. Draco backed up with Granger behind him and pulled out his own wand, deliberately throwing a curse passed the two boys towards the window where it shattered the glass instead. There were bolts of light from Potter’s, Weasley’s, Narcissa’s, Lucius’ and Draco’s wand. He fired at them with every intention of missing each time. The fight was a frantic blur of fired curses and dodging bodies. Lucius was caught with a stunning spell and collapsed to the floor, frozen.

“Drop it or she dies!” 

Draco spun around to find Bellatrix holding Granger in place with a knife to her throat, while the girl was slipping in and out of consciousness, exhausted from her previous torture. Neither Potter nor Weasley moved and the blonde haired Slytherin wanted to snap at Potter to release the stolen wands. If anything they only gripped them tighter, much to Draco’s dismay. Bellatrix pressed the knife harder against the girl’s throat until blood trickled down her neck and Granger cried out, struggling against the other witch even though it was futile. 

“Do it! Do it now!” bellowed Bellatrix, and Potter and Weasley dropped their wands in silence, “Pick them up, Draco. Now!” 

With a shaky breath, Draco collected the wands from the floor. Potter looked to him as if asking what to do now and the boy simply shook his head. Without Dobby they were cornered. There was no escape and now Aunt Bella had Granger again. He was at a loss. 

“Well, well, well, look what we have here.” Bella said as Potter’s face came back to his own, the Stinging Jinx wearing off rapidly now, “It’s Harry Potter. He’s all bright and shiny and new again. Just in time for the Dark Lord.” she turned to Draco then with a smile, “Call him.” 

With her holding Granger and his father stunned on the floor, Draco realised that in the time the two wasted arguing, neither of the them had managed to summon Voldemort and thus she wanted him to do it. All eyes were on him now. He opened his mouth to reply but the words wouldn’t come. The blonde glanced from his Aunt to Potter to his mother behind him and back again. Potter was back to glaring at him, fully expecting he would give them up, but how could he? After all he’d done to keep them as far away from the Dark Lord as possible? Narcissa moved in front of him then and stretched out her arm. His mother gave her sister a smile, but before she could summon their master, her eyes settled on something around Granger’s neck. The gem glimmered in the dim twilight -hissing along with his own, in perfect timing- and her mouth fell open. A gasp escaped her as she turned to look at Draco once more. His eyes went wide and he licked the sweat from his upper lip. His dear mother knew. Draco wondered if she would give him up to the Dark Lord for his betrayal.

“What is it, Cissy?!” 

That’s when he heard it; the tinkling of glass. Bellatrix was the first to look up, followed by Potter, then him then the others. _About bloody time._ Perched upon the great crystal chandelier was the house-elf they had been waiting for, loosening the fixtures that kept it in place above them. Aunt Bella dived out of the way in a shot, shoving Granger towards Potter who clutched her tightly with relief as seconds later the chandelier crashed to the floor, spraying shards of broken glass all around the room. Draco covered his face with his arm but he wasn’t quick enough. He could feel the glass that flew past slice up his skin. Potter was on him in an instant, wrestling not just Pettigew’s wand, but Draco’s as well, from his grip. The blonde fell back to the floor in the struggle and found himself leaning over the chair as he watched the scene unfold. Narcissa was flung across the room with another _Stupefy_ and Potter, Granger, Weasley, Griphook and Dobby huddled together on the other side of the room with the sword in hand. Bellatrix and Draco were the only two left standing.

“You could have killed me!” Bella exclaimed,

“Dobby never meant to kill. Only maim or injure.”

Bellatrix waved her wand, about to fire the Killing curse their way, when Dobby clicked his fingers and the wand disappeared from her hand, reappearing in his. 

“How dare you take my wand?” she shrieked, “How dare you defy your masters?!”

“Dobby has no master.” the elf said defiantly, “Dobby is a free elf. And Dobby has come to save Harry Potter-” the elf’s eyes found Draco and the boy looked away instantly, afraid his Aunt might have seen the exchange, “-and his friends!”

The group clung to each other and began to Disapparate. Draco risked one last glance at Granger, who was staring after him with a peculiar look on her face that he didn’t understand. There was a flash of silver that entered the portal as they disappeared and the blonde turned to find his Aunt Bella smiling deviously, her dagger missing from her hand. He checked the ring on his hand, it was still hissing. _Come on! Come on!_ Then there was silence. Had the dagger hit her? Was she dead? Had she escaped? His heart was beating too fast, his head was light and dizzy. He tried to stand and collapsed almost instantly, his limbs too weak to lift him. Then, he noticed the gentle glow of the gem, twinkling softly in the darkness. He let out a breath and slumped back down. It was over. They were free. Granger was safe. 

Draco doubled over and retched once, bringing up nothing but bile.

“Pathetic!” Bellatrix snarled at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okaaaay. I am so so so so sorry for the long wait. I'll be honest I had this and at least 4 more chapter already written ages ago and there's two reasons I haven't posted them already. 
> 
> One; I read a Dramione fanfiction called Their Eighth Year: Interlude by AlexandraEmerson and oh my god, it was perfect. So perfect, I almost didn't want to write my own fanfiction anymore because to me that story was now my head cannon and also so well written I didn't think mine could compare and, well, yeah I kind of abandoned my own for a little while. Honestly go read Their Eighth Year, it's amazing! Truly a work of art. 
> 
> Two; I've actually started writing my own original story which I hope to get published, so that's taking up a fair bit of my time. 
> 
> Anyways, let me know what you think of this. I know it's a retelling of the same scene we saw in the book/movie but I felt it was an important chapter in their story and I wanted to tell it from Draco's perspective. I hope you guys enjoyed and I will have another chapter up probably next week now. 
> 
> Thanks xx


	12. Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry remains distrustful of Draco despite everything and Hermione remembers troubling times with Draco as she recovers from her ordeal in Shell Cottage.

_Please don't give into this pain, just keep counting down the days_

_And dream of me to keep you safe_

* * *

_May 1 1998_

Hermione traced her finger along the white gauze wrapped around her arm. The blood seeped through the bandage to take the form of the letters carved beneath. It had been days since they escaped the Manor and even now her eyes would often fill with tears at the memory what had happened there. At how close they’d come to losing everything. 

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried...I tried to protect you!_

The voice was back, gut wrenching and filled with guilt. Everyday, multiple times a day, a new apology would come. So much so, that it was no longer necessary. The look on his face when he had watched her writhing in pain on the drawing-room floor was enough. His face had been as twisted and tormented as she imagined her own was, and she had felt him shaking with fear as he hoisted her up when Bellatrix told him to ‘dispose of her’. During the entire time the trio were held at the Manor, his fear matched, if not overpowered her own. Much like she had at Gallows End, Hermione had felt Draco’s emotions again that night. It was a peculiar experience; like hearing two pieces of music played at the same time. One overlapping the other. Her feelings in conjunction with his, muddled together, alike in many ways and yet distinctly different. At times it had been hard to tell who felt what, but she knew one thing throughout and that was that he was afraid and angry and full of regret. 

He had lied to his parents about who they were, and Ron had told her it was Draco who orchestrated their escape. The resentment she had felt towards him this last year ebbed away. When her gaze had met his, when he had _finally_ looked at her, Hermione realised he was never meant for that life. Draco didn’t want to be a Death Eater anymore than she wanted him to be one. 

And so, she found herself forgiving him once more. 

Their escape hadn’t come without loss. Dobby had died rescuing them; with Bellatrix’s dagger lodged in his abdomen, he bled out while they watched on helplessly. He had saved them and they could do nothing to help him in return. Hermione let out a sob as she thought of his tiny frame, so childlike in Harry’s arms and his big eyes, once so bright and full of determination, now bleak and lifeless. After they buried him and Hermione said a few kind words, the two boys helped her to the attic bedroom Bill and Fluer had given her, where she had been drifting in and out of consciousness for days now. Today was the first day she had woken when it was still daylight and felt well enough to climb out of bed and run herself a bath in the joining en-suite. 

Her muscles were tight and tender, and her bones felt heavy, weighed down with fatigue. During the first few days afterwards, every movement caused her pain, but now it felt like she was in the throws of a nasty flu; she could move, but she tired easily and she hoped the warm water would help her aching limbs. 

With a heavy heart, Hermione slipped out of her worn grey joggers and pale blue top and climbed into the tub. The water was unusually hot against her skin after months of bathing in cold rivers, and she gasped a little as she sank into the bubbles. With a flick of Bellatrix’s wand, Hermione conjured a flower in her hand, hoping the practice would help her connect with it. The white flower grew beautifully at first, but quickly wilted and died when the wand rejected her as its owner. She gazed at the dead snowdrop flower in her hands and sighed. One minute it was pure and beautiful, the next it was rendered down to nothing. Much like her and Draco. They grew and bloomed together, and now the rot was catching up with them too. She decided to give the gnarled black wand another try and unwrapped the bandage from around her arm. With the tip of the wand over her wound, she whispered the healing spell and watched the iridescent light circle her arm and disappear again. The word was unchanged, the cut as deep and ugly as before. Whatever curse that vile witch had enchanted the dagger with, was extremely powerful. Thus far, none of the charms or potions she had tried had any affect. Ollivander had warned this would happen, when she had woken briefly a few days ago, but she had refused to believe it. Now after all her failed attempts, she was beginning to think he was right. Frustrated, she set the walnut-and-dragon-heartstring wand down and ignored it as she bathed for the first time in months. She scrubbed furiously, as if somehow by doing so she could rid herself of all her worst memories, as if she could wash away the death that followed them everywhere. As if with warm water and a cloth she could purge herself of all the fear and nightmares and horrors she’d witnessed. As if she could clean her ‘dirty blood’. Rolling her eyes at even the thought, Hermione climbed out of the now cold bath and wrapped a towel around herself. Her arms and legs were a mess of cuts and blue-green bruises, which she’d obtained when they had tried to flee the woods before they were captured. Concealing those ailments with a clever charm would have been easy, but Hermione didn’t care about those minor injuries. They would heal on their own. Besides _those_ wounds didn’t tell her she was worthless. 

With a glance, she noticed the pile of clothes Fluer had left her; silk pyjamas shorts and a matching shirt, jeans, cashmere jumpers, and fancy broderie blouses. It wasn’t exactly what she would have picked for herself, but with all her belongings stolen by Snatchers, she didn’t really have much choice. They had lost everything. Clothes, books, keepsakes, the Witch’s Eye, even their _toothbrushes_ for Merlin’s sakes! Bill and Fleur were kind enough to loan them whatever they needed until they were back on their feet. The young witch pulled on the borrowed pyjamas and made her way back to the bedroom, 

“You’re up.” Harry said, with surprise as he entered the room, “How are you feeling?”

He was wearing a blue shirt over a black t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, and he was holding a tray. On which, sat a cup of tea and a bowl of porridge with fresh berries. He moved towards her and set the tray on the bedside cabinet, then sat down beside her in the bed. 

“A lot better.” 

He took her hand in his, caressing her fingers. 

“I thought she was going to kill you.” He said, his face solemn and his voice a little too quiet, like he was scared to even speak the words. 

“So did I.” Hermione replied, tearfully, “I thought it was all over. That we’d lost.” 

He hugged her then. Harry had barely said a word to anyone in the last few days, and when he did it was only to ask how she was and to declare that he was going to kill Bellatrix. Other than that, he was quietly seething at the events that had transpired days ago. The air around them had been heavy since they arrived at the quaint little cottage. In part, Hermione wished he would let it go. They may have been caught, but they escaped. They were here now, alive and well for the most part. That was all that mattered. 

“I’m so sorry about Dobby.” 

“Me too.” Harry said, pulling away from their hug, “We wouldn’t have made it out of there without him. He died a hero.” 

Hermione nodded, guilt gnawing at her. 

“How's the arm?”

“Charms don’t work.” Hermione sighed, “Neither do potions or magical medicines. Olivander says it can’t be healed. It’ll always be there.”

He looked tense, his jaw was clenched tight, his brow furrowed and his eyes hard and piercing. He’d only ever looked this furious a handful of times, and it was only ever when something truly awful had happened. Taking his hand in hers once more, she gave him her best reassuring look, but he was too focused on the scabbed word cut into her skin. She pulled more pain-relief ointment and gauze from where Luna had left it at her beside and applied the cream to her arm, wincing each time her fingers connected with the fresh wound. Harry watched on with concern, every now and then rubbing her leg gently whenever she would let out a whimper of pain. Once the cream was applied, he took the gauze from her hands and carefully wrapped the white fabric around her arm. 

“Thought that brooch was supposed to help with healing.” He muttered,

“It does, but...this is different. The dagger is enchanted with very advanced, very _dark_ magic.”

“Did he watch while it happened?” The words were ground out with bitterness, she gaped at him, wanting to reply but not certain what to answer with, “Bloody coward.” 

The girl rolled her head in exasperation and turned away from him to take a sip of the tea he’d brought her. The hot liquid was a welcome treat after months of nothing but cold water. It was made just the way she liked it, a little milky with two sugars. The way Mum made it. Hermione chewed her lip and turned her attention back to the boy in front of her, his face was pulled into a scowl as he fixed the bandage on her arm in place with medical tape,

“He lied for us, Harry.” she replied softly, thinking back to how utterly terrified Draco had looked during the whole encounter. 

Back at the Manor, she had glimpsed a side of him she had never seen before; his guile and courage. Draco was not brave by any means -not really, anyway, he liked to act the part but he could never live up to it- and she’d seen him scared and weak many times over throughout their friendship. Betraying his family, and more importantly Voldemort, at the risk of his own life was something she had never expected him to do. And he’d done it for them, he’d done it because he knew it was the right thing to do. 

Harry sucked in a breath and shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard,

“Malfoy lies all the time. Hardly went out of his way for us, did he? I mean, he _let_ them torture you.”

“He could have given us away and he didn’t.” 

He didn’t reply to that. How could he? There was no argument to be had. He knew she was right, he knew if Draco had given them away they’d be dead by now. 

His frown deepened, 

“Finding these Horcruxes, defeating You-Know-Who, protecting the wizarding world...this is important stuff, Hermione. We can’t be going around trusting Malfoy. He’s the enemy!” 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, her brows knit together as she gazed at him incredulously. He was being difficult and she really didn’t feel up to dealing with his rivalry today. It had been seven long years of two boys fighting, arguing and bickering about each other, with her always caught in between. It was exhausting. They would never get on and she would never expect them to, not with the history they had, but she wished they would at least stop believing the worst of each when their actions obviously told a different story. 

“If he’s the enemy, mate, then we’re not doing too bad.” 

Hermione and Harry looked around to find Ron leaning against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. 

“Really, Ron? You too?” Harry clapped his hands to his knees, “Guess that’s it then: Malfoy is our friend now. We’ll just forget everything he’s done, will we? Wishing Hermione dead, almost getting Buckbeak killed, cursing Katie, poisoning you,” he gestured towards the boy by the door, “plotting to kill Dumbledore. We’ll just pretend it never happened, right?”

The girl grimaced with everything he listed. How could she forget any of the horrible things he’d done? It was all she thought about. 

“Harry!” Hermione snapped, “We know what he’s done and it's completely unforgivable, but he _did_ help us. He’s been helping us this entire time.”

“He’s been helping _you._ If it was just me and Ron he’d have handed us over right away and you know it.”

“We don’t know that.” She replied. 

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. It was pointless to try and change his mind about Draco right now. 

“How does it work then?” Ron asked suddenly, as he entered the room fully now and leaned over the white wood footboard of her bed. “Can you ask him where the next Horcrux is?”

“No, if I want to talk to him I’d have to learn Cleiromency as well. For now, I can only hear him.”

“Yeah that would’ve been too easy.” Ron mumbled more to himself than to anyone else, 

“Well, what do you hear now?” Harry asked, agitated, 

“Nothing.” She didn’t tell him about the constant apologies, Harry wouldn’t believe her anyway. Hermione turned back to Ron then, “You-Know-Who wouldn’t trust him with that kind of information anyway.” 

“Why not?” 

“When Hermione and I were on Gallows End we saw him,” Harry said, “with Dominic Nott and Pieter Goyle. From what we heard the Malfoys have lost favour.” 

Ron frowned, “Because of what happened at the Department of Mysteries two years ago?” 

“And because Draco doesn’t have it in him to kill people.” Hermione said quietly, “They think he’s weak. After what he did for us…he’ll be punished for it, I know it.”

Hermione thought back to the way Draco had flinched the moment Lucius raised his voice. A knee-jerk reaction after years and years of abuse. In all their years of friendship he had never told her the truth about his father, never once told her what really happened to him during their summers away from Hogwarts. It wasn’t until their third year Defence Against the Dark Arts class, when Lupin had them facing a Boggart, that she learned Lucius often beat his son. Only then did she notice the cuts and bruises Draco would always return to school with after the holidays. Up until that moment she’d always put it down to him getting into fights that even Crabbe and Goyle couldn’t get him out of. Hermione remembered the night in fourth year when she had caught him stealing a healing potion from Snape’s stall...

_With one last glance around to check Filch was out of sight, Hermione opened the door to the closet stall and let out a gasp. It was then that Draco turned, his wand already in his hand and pointed at her as he looked through her with wide eyes,_

_“Who’s there?”_

_She pulled the door closed behind her and tugged off Harry’s invisibility cloak she had ‘burrowed’ for the evening._

_“Granger?!” He gawped, “Wh-what are you doing here?!”_

_“I could ask you the same question!” She hissed._

_The Slytherin quickly tucked the potion vial into his trouser pocket and leaned back against the large, tattered oak shelf behind him, folding his arms across his chest._

_“I asked first.”_

_She was blushing now, she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She couldn’t exactly tell him what she’d come here for. Whatever surprise he had before was gone, replaced with a self-satisfied smirk,_

_“I-l needed ingredients.”_

_He raised his brows at her in that bemused way of his and gestured around._

_“Brewing trouble, are you? Well, well. Take whatever you like. Trust me, he won’t notice. I do it all the time.”_

_Hermione gave him a disapproving look and he let out a chuckle. She could feel his eyes on her as she lifted the rose thorns, powdered moondust, Ashwinder eggs, Ylang Ylang oil, pearl dust and dried rose petals. She tried to stuff the ingredients into her little bag before Draco could see them but he was too quick and he snatched the last tiny vial from her hand. The smirk fell and his handsome face turned into a scowl. Her breath was coming out quick; she knew he’d figured out what she was up to. She grabbed the vial back from him and turned to leave hastily, but the boy caught her arm before she could escape._

_“Really, Granger? Love potions!” He spat the words in annoyance, “Aren’t you a little above all that nonsense?”_

_“It...it’s not for me.”_

_“Oh yeah,” his tone was scathingly sarcastic, “cause you’re just down here -risking detention I might add- to help out all of those ridiculous girls you’re friends with!”_

_He had a point. Hermione got on with only a handful of the girls in her house and she didn’t exactly consider them close friends. Or at least, not close enough to risk getting caught sneaking around the castle at night for._

_“What does it matter to you what I’m doing anyway?! That’s my business, not yours!”_

_With that Hermione threw the cloak back over her head and left. Not wanting to let her go without learning more about her plans, Draco dived under the cloak as well, inadvertently pressing himself close to her as he tried to avoid stepping on any of the invisible fabric. She could feel his breath warm against her neck and it only made her blush deeper. The young witch’s face was almost completely pink now,_

_“Go away!” She whispered,_

_“Not until you tell me who it’s for.”_

_“It’s just for practice!” Hermione could tell her voice was a little too high pitched, a dead giveaway she was lying, “I wasn't actually going to use it.”_

_“And how do you expect to know if it works if you don’t use it?”_

_She was quiet then. Draco was too clever._

_“I trust I’ll be seeing Krum all over you in the next few days then? Or maybe Potter?”_

_A thought crossed her mind then, and Hermione stopped suddenly and spun around to face the boy behind her,_

_“What were you in there for anyway?”_

_He grimaced a little and she half expected him to try to dodge the question the same way she had. He didn’t,_

_“If I tell you, you best not tell anyone else.”_

_He didn’t wait for her to agree, he just pulled out the vial from his trouser pocket and Hermione gazed up at him with a furrowed brow. In his hand sat the Wiggenweld Potion._

_“What’s that for? Are you alright?”_

_He looked around uncomfortably, as if they weren’t already alone in the dark hall under the Invisibility cloak and he was afraid there were people watching,_

_“Fell off my broom during Quidditch practice.” He replied a little too quickly._

_She bit her lip, not quite sure she believed him. Draco was always in a hurry to get to Madame Pomfrey’s when he got even a scratch. He was always happy to make his ailments known and garner as much sympathy as he could from his classmates. It didn’t make sense that he would hide whatever injury he’d got this time. He wasn’t acting like himself,_

_“Practice doesn’t start again for another four days.” She said, upon realising that classes hadn’t resumed yet as they were still on their Easter break._

_Only a handful of students -herself and Draco included- had returned to Hogwarts a few days earlier than required. Hermione had come back early to keep Harry company and help him with the Triwizard Tournament. Why Draco had returned, when it was common knowledge he loathed the school, was a mystery._

_“Yeah, well, I was training on my own; what of it?”_

_“Malfoy, did something happen?”_

_“No, of course not. Come on, we’re both up and we’ve got this blooming thing,” he gestured around with his head, indicating the cloak they were hidden under, “we might as well make the most of it.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_He took her hand then and led her away from the school and past the courtyard, down towards a grassy bank. Hermione gulped and felt her hand become sticky with sweat. Where on Earth was he taking her and, more importantly, what was he planning to do when they got there? It turned out to be much more innocent than she had expected, and Hermione berated herself for even allowing her mind to wander the way it had. Girls like her did not fantasise about their best friend kissing them._

_They lay together under the clear night sky, watching the stars as they twinkled above them. Draco pointed to the constellations and explained which ones were the most famous and which were lesser known, which his family were named after and the tales behind them. She listened intently, aware they likely wouldn’t get a moment like this again anytime soon. They may have declared a truce this term, but he’d been clear that it didn’t mean they could be friends like they were before._

_“That’s Hercules over there, that’s Lyra, the lute, and that one’s Draco: the dragon. Grandfather taught me all about the constellations and our history with them. I come out here sometimes whenever I want to remember him.”_

_He was talking about Cygnus Black, Narcissa’s father, who died when Draco was twelve and whom he was incredibly close with. It was the first time he’d spoken about the loss of his beloved grandfather with her. Hermione felt a pang of guilt on realising how much she’d missed while they’d spent the last two years at odds with one another._

_As the Slytherin boy drew the patterns in the air with his finger, Hermione could see the stars start to take shape._

_“What does your name mean?” He asked, turning his head look at her now,_

_“It’s Greek originally. But Mum and Dad chose it from their favourite muggle play.”_

_He propped himself up on his elbows and quirked a brow, interested in learning more,_

_“What play? What’s it about?”_

_Hermione recounted the play to him, explaining how King Leontes wrongly believed his wife, Queen Hermione, had been unfaithful and accused her of having an affair with his friend King Polixenes of Bohemia. King Leontes’ anger led him to send their daughter away, believing she wasn’t his at all, and how he went on to imprison Hermione, ultimately leading to her death. Draco’s expression grew more and more troubled as he listened to the tale. When she was finished he blew out a breath and cocked his head to the side,_

_“Muggles do love their tragedies, don’t they?”_

_She frowned at that, but decided to ignore the comment,_

_“It’s about the dangers of unwarranted jealousy and the power of redemption.”_

_Draco rolled his eyes as he plucked blades of grass from the ground,_

_“‘Powers of redemption’. He wouldn’t have needed to redeem himself if he hadn’t been such an arse, would he?”_

_“What are you getting at?”_

_“It’s absurd; the idea that he’d be forgiven after all he’s done. Not to mention the queen returning from the dead to be with the man who caused the whole mess in the first place.”_

_Hermione sat up then, an incredulous look on her face. The boy in front of her truly was unbelievable! Didn’t he realise the moral of the tale? The underlying themes that even the most flawed people deserve a chance to make things right? That everyone had goodness in them?_

_“Like you know anything about muggle plays anyway!”_

_Draco sat up now too, one leg bent up with his arm resting on it, and the other stretched out on the grass,_

_“I’ve read muggle plays, Granger. I just don’t think they’re very good.”_

_“Because you hate muggles.” The words came out more harsh than she had meant them to be,_

_“Because they all follow the same premise! There’s always some kind of overarching moral lecture.”_

_“Maybe you need a lecture in morality.”_

_Draco groaned at that,_

_“Here we go. Mention one thing I don’t like about muggles and you have to go get your knickers in a twist.”_

_With a huff, Hermione grabbed her cloak and notebook and got to her feet, a moment later she was trudging anyway from him. He was up on his feet in a shot, half running after her,_

_“I don’t hate muggles.”_

_Hermione let out a humourless laugh,_

_“Yes, you do!”_

_“No, I don’t. I used to, but not anymore.”_

_At that, she spun on her heel to face him, just like she had before. He was standing no less than a foot away from her and she had to look up a little to meet his gaze. He was frowning and he jutted his chin out a little, looking more and more like the pampered child he was,_

_“You really expect me to believe that?”_

_He shrugged,_

_“Believe what you want. It’s the truth.”_

_She was staring at him now, her chest rising and falling with anger, but something told her he was being honest with her,_

_“Oh? You just changed your mind then, did you? I’m sure Lucius is very happy!”_

_His eyes narrowed at that and his expression got visibly darker,_

_“You’re the one who made me change my mind, you dolt!”_

_Her mouth fell open and her brown eyes were suddenly showing too much white,_

_“Yeah,” he continued, “I figured if you’re parents are muggles they can’t all be that bad. Doesn’t mean I trust them, mind you. There would be no magic left if they had their way.”_

_“Your father told you that, I presume? By all means, just take his word for it. He knows everything, doesn’t he? Horrible man.”_

_“Watch it, Granger. That’s a line you don’t want to cross.”_

_“You’re defending him? Really?! After what he’s done?! I know you didn’t fall off your broom. You’re the best flyer in our year next to Harry.”_

_“Can’t go a day without mentioning Potter, can you?” He muttered, clearly trying to change the subject._

_“What really happened that you needed the Wiggenweld?!”_

_His grey eyes flickered to her leg. The one injured during the raid on the World Cup. In the smoke and the commotion, he’d found her and helped her. He kept her out of the Death Eaters’ path and brought her back to Harry and Ron. Hermione realised then that Lucius must have learned what had happened, and that Draco had paid the price for his actions. It was her fault. His father had beat him because of her. Again._

_“Draco…”_

_“Leave it.”_

_He brushed past her and hurried back towards the school. Overcome with guilt, Hermione watched him fade into the distance._

There were other glimpses of it throughout the years. Hermione remembered all the times Draco had told her his father would kill him if he found out there was anything between them. Even knowing what Lucius was, she never believed him. Now she did. She hadn’t missed the way Draco had moved towards her that night or the way Lucius’ cane came down hard on his shoulder, pinning him in place. He was so afraid of the older Malfoy, and Hermione found herself angry thinking about it. 

“Unfortunately, ‘Mione, we have enough to worry about without adding Malfoy to the mix.” Harry was less irritated and more tired when he spoke this time. The weight of their task was getting to all of them, “Look, if he gets into trouble and we can help him, we will. As much as I hate to admit it, we owe him that much.” 

Harry glanced at his two friends for confirmation, Hermione nodded and Ron pulled a face at first. It was clear he didn’t want to risk his life for their childhood-bully-turned-enemy, but after a few minutes he nodded as well. Relief washed over her. They couldn’t do anything now. Not while they were halfway across England from him. But if they happened to cross paths again, if he was in danger, they would return the favour and help him. Enemies or not, she didn’t want him to get hurt. Merlin knows she didn’t want him to die. 

“I’ve been thinking…” Hermione said, pulling a book from under the bed, its title was _Darkest Wizards Throughout History._ “The diary, the ring, the locket, they all mean something to him. The ring was his grandfather’s, right?” Harry nodded, and Ron looked like he was just now realising something, “And the locket was Salazar Slytherin’s. I was thinking if I could find out more about him -about who he was before he became You-Know-Who- maybe that would lead us to the next one.” 

Hermione opened the book on the page _Lord Voldemort aka Tom Marvolo Riddle_ and watched the attractive boy in the picture beside his fellow classmates. It was an old Hogwarts photo the biographer had used to show the dark wizard’s younger self. On the next page was the last photo ever taken of him, which was captured in the moment as he was firing the Killing Curse at passers by in the Ministry during the First Wizarding War. Hermione pointed to the paragraph about the orphanage where Voldemort was raised, 

“It could be worth looking into.” She insisted. 

“It’s brilliant!” Ron said enthusiastically, 

“No.” Harry cut in and the two friends looked crestfallen, “You-Know-Who hated the orphanage. He wouldn't have left a Horcrux there.”

“Not a Horcrux, no, but maybe we’ll learn something.” Hermione was crushed that he wasn’t even considering it. 

“I want to go to Gringotts.” he said instead, “We need to get inside Bellatrix’s vault.”

“No.” Ron stood up straight now, his arms over his chest, “Absolutely not. Look what she did to Hermione and that was because she _thought_ we’d been there. If she found out-”

“Then we’ll just have to avoid getting caught, won’t we?” Harry shrugged. He turned his gaze to Hermione then, “You saw how she was; she was afraid. I think that’s where they’re hiding it. One of them must be in there at least.” 

“Harry’s right, Ron.” Hermione said. 

The worried expression never left the freckled boy’s face, but he gave in with a gesture that said ‘alright then’ by spreading his arms out wide. Harry got to his feet, 

“I’m gonna go talk to the goblin. Maybe he’ll help.” 

It was Ron’s turn to come and sit down on the bed now as Hermione ate her porridge. 

“He blames himself for it, you know. You getting hurt, I mean.”

“I know.” She replied, “It’s not his fault. Or Draco’s for that matter. Only Bellatrix’s. That’s why I have to go.”

“To get back at her?” Ron still wasn’t convinced it was a good idea, 

“To prove to myself I’m not afraid of her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! 
> 
> Thank you so much for waiting for this next chapter and I'm so sorry these have all been completely irregular. I have to admit with everything going on I haven't had much time to write new chapters for this and I've kept putting off uploading the ones I have already written. Anyways this one is up now and more will be in the future I just don't know when. 
> 
> I hope Hermione doesn't come across as too self-pitying since that's not how I intended it to be. I honestly do think that if I were in her position -in a war where one side literally thought me and people like me should all be culled- I'd get down about it sometimes so that's what I'm trying to emphasise here. I don't think the wizarding war would have been easy for her emotionally.
> 
> Anyway I hope you like this one. I know there's not much drama in this chapter, but there will be in more to come. Thank you.


	13. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has been given an ultimatum but struggle's to carry out his task as the final battle breaks out. He is reunited briefly with Hermione and makes a last ditch attempt to make amends.

_ In your hands, there's a touch that can heal _

_ But in those same hands, is the power to kill _

* * *

They were here somewhere, Draco was sure of it. He’d seen them through Granger’s eyes when he’d last entered her mind to beg her to forgive him. 

He knew she never would, just as he would never forgive himself for letting anything happen to her, but he needed her to know. He’d never wanted her to get hurt. If only he’d acted faster, if he’d done more, been braver, he could have stopped it before Bellatrix ever lay a finger on her. He should have protected her. Fear got the better of him as always. Now the Dark Lord had given him an ultimatum; retrieve Potter before dawn or they were all dead. He had to admit he didn’t like the idea of handing his former classmate over -rival or not- but if it kept them alive then he had no choice. 

He stood in one of many archways of the halls leading to various classrooms, with his back pressed against the wall, watching and waiting. There were students everywhere. Dumbledore’s Army had regrouped and were on the hunt for something, what it was he didn’t know. He knew it was important, that much was obvious. Otherwise he didn’t really care what it was they were after so long as they stayed out of his way. All that mattered now was finding Potter, getting him alone and bringing him back to the Dark Lord. He wasn’t about to go through another two days of the Cruciatus curse only to be killed, because he had failed his master yet again. Draco was adamant he wasn’t getting Granger involved this time either. Whatever the cost, even if he had to  _ Stupefy _ her and hide her away in an abandoned broom closet, she was under no circumstances getting caught up in his plan. Now that he thought about it it wasn’t a bad idea actually, and would keep her out of harm’s way while the other Death Eater’s were attacking the castle. It was then he saw the two figures running towards the exit and he grabbed both boys by the collars of their school shirts, dragging them back with him in the opposite direction. 

“Come on.” He snarled, as he dragged them down another hallway,

“Oi! Get off, Malfoy!” Goyle protested, trying to wrestle out of his grip, 

“What’s all this about?” Zabini asked, calmly. 

“The Dark Lord wants Potter. You two are going to help me find the bastard.” 

Draco was still furious the Boy-Who-Lived had stolen his wand. Horrible, little prat that he was. Never could keep well away from what was his, could he? First Granger, then the Liquid Luck, now his wand -Potter had developed a bad habit of taking what was clearly meant for Draco. The first two were long gone and out of his hands now, but the last? Well, he’d be damned if he let that arrogant git keep it. The three boys followed Potter from a distance, past the rubble and the destruction of the school, until they found him entering the Room of Requirement. Only once the other boy was inside, did they make their move. They raced towards the disappearing door and managed to make it through before it vanished completely. The blonde gripped his mother’s wand tight. Draco sneered. It didn’t feel right. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something about it was off. Maybe was the wood, eleven and a half inches of ebony, rather than his ten inches of hawthorn. Or maybe it was the core. Narcissa’s was the usual dragon heartstring which was tricky enough to master on its own, whereas Draco’s core was unicorn hair. Less powerful, true, but more understanding by far. More loyal. He was lost without his own wand. Like he was missing a part of himself. He had to get it back. 

This time the room presented itself as a cluttered mess. Magical items were piled high atop each other, making narrow pathways between mountains of junk. They followed Potter as he searched for something. Draco watched the dark-haired boy glance around himself as if listening to something. The blonde held his breath. Had he heard them? Did he know they were following him? No, he couldn’t, they were all but silent as they followed him, mimicking his movements to mask the sound of their own. Potter came to an abrupt halt then and turned, making his way over to a dark walnut box. The three boys watched as he lifted the lid to reveal something. Draco was too far away to tell what it was. He only knew it glimmered in the dull light of the room.  _ Jewellery shopping, are we? How nice! Everyone else is out there fighting and what’s he doing? Hiding away like a rat.  _ Draco thought snidely as he stepped around a wall of clutter with Narcissa’s wand pointed at the boy in front of him. Goyle and Zabini followed suit, training their wands on him as well, 

“Well, well. What brings you here, Potter?” he asked, 

Potter turned to face him then, holding a silver crown or tiara of sorts in his hand, 

“I could ask you the same.” 

“You have something of mine.” Draco replied, his lip curling in anger, “I’d like it back.” 

“What’s wrong with the one you have?” Potter replied, gestured towards his new wand, his face completely devoid of any fear. 

“It’s my mother’s. It’s powerful, but it’s not the same. Doesn’t quite understand me. Know what I mean?”

__ “You could have done more, you know.” 

Draco blinked a little at that, taken aback by how the boy in front of him was voicing what he had told himself every day since the events at the Manor. He knew Potter couldn’t read minds or get inside people’s heads. At least not with magic anyway. Which meant he was reading his expression, Potter knew how he felt and he was playing with him, using Draco’s emotions to his advantage. The blonde pulled his features into his best sneer and opened his mouth to retort, but Potter cut him off, 

“I mean, yeah, you helped us-”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zabini and Goyle exchange glances and felt his chest tighten and his mouth go dry. If they knew then he was as good as dead, 

“-but you let it happen. You let Bellatrix torture Hermione.” 

“Who cares?” Goyle drawled, “Mudblood got what was coming to her.”

Draco clenched his jaw. He had to keep his cool. He couldn’t let Potter get to him, he had a job to do, he had only a few hours left and if he failed this time his whole family would be killed,

“Malfoy cares, don’t you?” Potter said, his tone horrifyingly calm as he revealed his long kept secret, 

“You shut your mouth, Potter!” the blonde spat, edging towards the other boy as a threat. 

“Go on, Malfoy. Do him in. Don’t be a prat.” Goyle’s voice came from behind him, a whisper in his ear. 

Draco glanced back fearfully at the other Slytherin, hoping against hope they couldn’t see him trembling. It was then he noticed Potter’s hand move towards his own wand -or rather Draco’s wand which he had stolen. The nerve of him! To think he could use his own wand against him. 

“Easy…” Draco said with a much malice as he could manage, 

“EXPELLIARMUS!!” Granger’s voice came from nowhere in particular. 

There was a bolt of light and in an instant Narcissa’s wand was gone from his hand. He fell back in horror and tripped over a chest behind him. 

“AVADA KEDAVRA!!” Goyle yelled as a bolt of green shot towards the girl. 

_ NO!!!!  _ Draco thought and clambered to his feet and grabbed his mother’s wand once more. His heart was beating too fast in his chest and his whole body was cold with dread. He saw her then, untouched and unharmed -thank Merlin- as she reached up a second time and fired a stunning spell Goyle’s way, but missed when he and Zabini ran off. Draco didn’t bother to risk a glance her way. He didn’t think he could face her yet and he was certain she wouldn’t want to see him either, so without a word, he raced off in the direction the other two Slytherin’s had gone. When he caught up with them, they were standing beside two large mirrors and were both panting. Draco stalked over to Goyle and grabbed him by the scruff of his collar,

“What the hell was that?!” he growled, furiously, “We aren’t meant to kill him!” 

Goyle easily pushed the blonde away from him and gave him a look of disgust, 

“Wasn’t just gonna let that filthy mudblood get away, was I?” 

Draco raised his fist without realising what he was doing. He wanted to pummel the bloody prick’s face in, hear the  _ crunch _ of broken bones and the cry of pain for what he’d just done. He could have lost her. He could have lost her! 

“That’s enough of that, boys.” Zabini said, “What was that all about anyway, Malfoy?”

“W-what?” 

“You helping Potter and the Mudblood.” Goyle snapped, “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a traitor.”

“You arseholes!” came a fourth voice. 

The three boys turned to find Weasley behind them, his wand -this one stolen from Pettigrew- was trained on them.  _ Marvellous. Now I have this imbecile to deal with. This day just keeps getting better and better.  _

“What the bloody hell are you playing at?” Weasley asked, addressing the blonde, 

“Get lost, Weasley.” Draco snapped, “This is between me and Potter.” 

“It’s not about you two. It was never about you two. It’s about everyone.” Weasley’s eyes were lit with anger and disbelief, “Do you really think if you just hand Harry over to You-Know-Who everything will go back to the way it was? It won’t. It’ll get worse. They’ll be more torturing and more killings and that’ll be on your hands, Malfoy.” 

“What do you know of it? Your family are tucked away in the Burrow! You don’t have a care in the world. Mine are here. On the front line. I have to do this! I  _ have _ to protect them!” 

“Hurry up, mate. Let’s just kill him!” Goyle ground out between gritted teeth, while Zabini remained uncharacteristically quiet. Draco ignored the two lads behind him and let Weasley carry on, 

“Yeah,” the auburn-haired boy nodded, his hand over his heart, “I get that. I really do. I left Harry and Hermione behind at one point because of it. Because I wanted to go home and look after my lot. But what about  _ her _ ? It won’t end for her when you give Harry up. They’ll come for her eventually and they’ll kill her when they do. Can you live with that?” 

Draco could feel the tears stinging his eyes as he held his wand at the other boy, 

“That’s my choice? My family or-or her?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Weasley shook his head, “We can help. We can protect them. All of us. Together.” 

The blonde lowered his wand slightly. Weasley sounded so resolute, so certain, that there was still hope. It was the first and only time the Gryffindor lad had ever looked at him with anything akin to kindness and he found his anger retreating. Could he be right? Could he keep both his parents and Granger alive? If joining Potter was the cost, wasn’t it worth it tenfold? 

“Ah, fuck this!” Goyle said, lifting his wand into the air, “ _ Fiendfyre!”  _

__ Upon using the incantation of the curse, three fiery figures shot from Goyle’s wand; a dragon, a serpent and a chimera, and spread upwards and outwards, the flames licking against the clutter in the room and burning it to cinders, spreading more fire. 

“Bloody hell!” Weasley gasped and bolted in the opposite direction. 

Draco watched in horror as Goyle tried to control the flames coming from his wand to no avail. With every flick of his wand and every command, there was more and more fire and soon the air was thick with smoke. Zabini coughed behind him and ran in the direction Weasley had just gone. He followed a moment later, with Goyle bringing up the rear and burning everything around them in the process. 

“Run! Run! Goyle is setting the bloody place on fire!” He heard Weasley call to Granger and Potter up ahead. 

Her brown eyes found his grey ones for a moment, a terrified look on her face, but then Potter grabbed her hand and pulled her away. Granger, Potter and Weasley ran on ahead and a moment later the serpent and the chimera of fire joined together behind the trio, blocking his and Zabini’s only exit. Draco glanced at the Italian and found him climbing up the mountain of clutter in a panic. The blonde quickly followed behind, carefully placing his feet on dressers and chairs and gripping onto whatever he could find above him. A bookcase, a harp, a painting, it didn’t matter as long as it meant putting some space between him and the fire. He looked around, hoping to spot Granger somewhere in the chaos, but the smoke and the flames were too thick. He watched helplessly as Goyle lost his grip below him and fell into the flames with a scream. Like that he was gone. For a moment he didn’t move, it was only when his eyes began to sting from the smoke and his fingers started to slip that he forced himself to push on. It wasn’t long before he and Zabini reached the peak of the tower of clutter and there was nowhere else for them to go. 

“Grab on!” Potter’s voice called to them. 

Draco found the Boy-Who-Lived mid-air on a broom beside him, holding his hand out for the blonde boy to take. To his left, Weasley offered his broom to Zabini and Granger was on her own behind them, gripping her broom in a death-like vice. She never did like flying, and he was certain this experience alone would put her off it altogether in the future. Draco took Potter’s hand and jumped onto the broom behind him, Zabini did the same with Weasley and they took off into the air, zooming past the flames in a blur. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Granger was still there and let out a sigh of relief when he found she was. She raised her wand then and, with a clever spell he couldn’t hear, created an opening for them in the fire. They landed on the cobblestone floor outside the room with a crash and, without a word, Zabini ran off, leaving him behind. 

“Harry!” Granger yelled, as she threw a basilisk fang at him.

Potter stabbed the tiara that he’d retrieved earlier and a smoke-like phantom was released, knocking him back with the force. Weasley kicked the tiara -or whatever it was- into the flames and Draco watched as the fiery serpent, dragon and chimera changed to each take the face of Voldemort. The Dark Lord’s snake-like features raced towards them, about to engulf them entirely, when the door to the Room of Requirement closed. Potter was on the floor now, his back against the wall. He was panting and he looked to be in pain. His eyes were closed, almost as if he were sleeping, then they shot open and the Boy-Who-Lived stared up at Granger and Weasley, who were now standing over him. They seemed to have all but forgotten Draco was still there. 

“It’s the snake. She’s the last one. The last Horcrux.”

“Look inside him, Harry.” Weasley replied, “If we find him, we can find the snake. We can end this.”

Draco watched the three curiously as he climbed to his feet. He had no clue what was unfolding before him or what a Horcrux even was. He presumed it had something to do with the tiara and some kind of dark magic Voldemort was using. What it did, he wasn’t sure, but from the looks of it it was powerful stuff. His eyes found Granger then, just as she turned her head to look at Weasley. It was then she noticed Draco and their eyes met for a brief moment. Her hair was a frazzled mess tied in a plait at her neck and her face was covered in cuts and black ash from the fire, her brows were knit tight and there was sadness etched all over her face. Draco let his eyes fall to the floor, too overcome with shame to look at her any longer.

“I know where he is.” Potter nodded and Weasley helped him to his feet. 

The trio turned to Draco then and he shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, 

“Why’re you still here?” Potter asked, with venom. 

“Th-thank you. For coming back for us.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Hermione.” 

The blonde gulped and turned to her, 

“Thanks.” He croaked.

She gave the faintest of nods in response and Draco could see the shine of tears in her eyes. It was like a knife in his side, twisting and plunging deeper, ripping him apart. Being in her presence after everything that had happened was too painful, and he wanted nothing more than to run away, to never have to face her again, to never have to face what he’d done or the pain he’d caused, but he couldn’t leave just yet.

“I-I want it back.” His voice was weak and he couldn’t look at them as he spoke, “My wand. I want it back.” 

Potter and Weasley exchanged glances. Granger’s brown orbs never left his face. 

“Give him his wand.”

“What?” Potter gawped at her, “Why? He has his mother’s. He doesn’t need two. He’ll probably only try to use it on us later anyway.”

“Mate…” Weasley said, trying to reason with him,

“Give him his wand, Harry.” Granger turned to Potter in that no-nonsense way of hers, “You can take Narcissa’s.” She looked at Draco for confirmation, and he managed a weak half shrug in reply. 

Potter sighed, grabbed the wand from his back pocket and tossed it at the blonde. Draco caught it easily with one hand and in return threw his mother’s wand to Potter. He closed his eyes the moment his wand was returned to him and felt the tension ease from his shoulders. The wand remembered him, of course, and relaxed at his touch as well. If nothing else he had this, 

“And ours?” Granger asked, meaning their wands this time. 

Draco shook his head, 

“Bella…” he trailed off as the memories flooded back. 

The girl set her jaw and looked away, and he knew she was trying not to cry. He wanted nothing more than to hug her, to kiss her, and make all of this go away, but how could he? Nothing could make this better and, even if it could, even if she wanted him to do just that, he didn’t deserve her anymore. He doubted he ever really had. 

“I meant it.” Weasley was addressing him now, “What I said before. We can help you.” 

“You can’t. I have no idea where my parents are. I...I can’t defy him. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill  _ them _ .”

“Draco...” Granger said, her voice pleading with him.

“Right,” Potter cut in, clearly feeling awkward, “I’m gonna go find Nagini and finish this. You two-” he looked at his two friends then back at Draco, “keep an eye on him. Hermione…” Potter reached out to grip her arm, his thumb caressing the blue denim of her jacket. 

“I know.” she smiled at him, “We’ll be careful, Harry. Don’t worry.” 

His hand lingered a moment too long and made its way down her arm to take her hand in his next. Granger nodded at Potter, a peculiar expression passed over both their faces and the air was thick with tension between them. Draco narrowed his eyes at the pair in front of him. This is how things were then, he realised. Granger and Potter had been together this whole time.  _ Didn’t take him long. Prick. I’ll get you for this, Potter. Just wait. _ Of course, the foul git would throw himself at her the moment he got her alone! And she, being as naive as she was, would fall for it. Although the moment seemed to last forever, it was no more than a minute or two and, with that, Potter dropped her hand and ran off down the hall, disappearing from their view. Granger turned to Draco now and she had the decency to look apologetic. She knew he knew. Weasley was standing in the background, looking almost as uncomfortable and out of place as he was. 

She moved towards him then, her expression full of sadness and relief, and her arms opening out as if to hug him. Draco backed up automatically. This was not the place for that. Hogwarts was overrun with Death Eaters. If even one of them saw him hugging a muggle-born, him, his parents and Granger would be dead in minutes. The girl in front of him lost momentum and froze in place, a look of disappointment on her pretty features. He wasn’t sure why he was still standing there, he ought to have left by now, captured Potter, brought him back to the Dark Lord, then found Lucius and Narcissa and retreated from the battlefield. Yet here he was, Potter was long gone and Merlin knows where, his parents he hadn’t seen since the Manor this morning, and he was still very much in the midst of the war. He couldn’t move. His limbs would not allow him, they wouldn’t listen to his command to get the hell out of there, and it was all because Granger was here, 

“We’re going to make him mortal again. You-Know-Who. And then we’re going to kill him.” Granger said, with unparalleled determination. 

Draco let out a bitter chuckle, 

“You make it sound so easy.” 

“Harry is going there right now to finish it. We can find your parents. We can get them out of here and then we can fight together.” 

“Right now I don’t want my family anywhere near you. Not after what they did!”

“Then we’ll go.” Weasley said now, walking over to him, “Me and you. You take one half of the grounds, I’ll take the other. They don’t have to like it, but they don’t have much choice right now, do they?” 

Draco’s grey eyes searched Weasley’s freckled face, afraid he was lying and he would be walking his parents into a trap. But there was no deception in his features, only honesty and compassion. He genuinely wanted to help. Draco couldn’t help but look a little confused. After everything he’d already done, why would they care what happened to him or his family now? Nonetheless, Draco gave a hasty nod and the auburn-haired boy turned back to look at Granger, 

“I’ll meet you at Hagrid’s hut in an hour. If I’m not there…” he looked down at his feet, “find Lav, will you? Make sure she’s alright.” 

“Wait!” Draco said, gripping Weasley’s arm before he could leave, “I’ll check with Mother. Might be able to find out where they are. I-If we’re doing this, we have to be clever about it.”

Weasley said nothing and waited patiently while Draco entered his mother’s mind, 

_ Mother, where are you? Where’s Father?  _

__ Through Narcissa’s eyes he could see the forest as she kept pace with Bellatrix and the Dark Lord, making their way towards the clearing that led to the courtyard. He watched his Aunt hurtling curses at his old Professors with Granger’s wand. 

_ Oh! Draco, my boy! Are you safe? We’ll be at the courtyard soon. The boy is coming for the Dark Lord and when he does he’ll kill him and this will all be over. You can stop searching. You can return now, my love.  _

__ Draco felt his heart race. Potter really was going to face the Dark Lord head on then. The blonde knew if the boy died, he would never make it to his mother in time and his father was still missing from the battle. Hiding wasn’t an option anymore. They’d have to help the trio, they’d have to actively protect them in any way they could. They’d be defying the Dark Lord and, in doing so, making themselves targets, but it was the only way. At least this way they would have a chance. 

_ We can’t let him die. They’re going to help us, Mother. Potter and his friends. We need them. We have to help them as well.  _

__ Narcissa did not reply. Draco thought for a moment that it was doomed. That he’d made the mistake of telling his dear mother he was defecting and that she would tell the Dark Lord and all would be lost. But then he heard her voice again. 

_ Is it because of her? The Mudblood you’ve bound yourself to?! _

__ He winced at the malice in his mother’s voice. Never had she used such a tone with him. 

“Draco? What is it?” He heard Granger ask, but he ignored her. 

_ Don’t call her that! This is the only way. If he kills Potter we’ll be next. You saw how he was with us. We don’t have much time, Mother, please! Help him! Help Potter and meet us in the courtyard. We’ll find Father. I’ll get us out of this.  _

_ If I do this, it’ll be for us, Draco. Not for Potter or that foul Mudblood.  _

__ He ignored the last part and came back to look at Weasley and Granger, who were waiting with bated breath,

“Mother is close. I think I’ve convinced her…” he didn’t want to say the words aloud, just in case there were other Death Eaters listening now,

“Ok. Any idea where your dad is?” Weasley asked, 

“He’ll be hiding, most likely.” Draco rolled his eyes, “He won’t be in the thick of it that’s for certain. Best to check anywhere with a lot of cover.” 

“Right. Ok then. Malfoy, make sure you’re there to meet your mum. I’ll go get Lucius. Hermione, go find the rest of Dumbledore’s Army and look after yourself.” 

__ “Be careful, Ron.”

Granger gave Weasley a tight hug, and afterwards he Disapparated, leaving Draco alone with her. The Slytherin turned and attempted to head down the hall in the opposite direction of her, but she ran after him and he found her delicate fingers wrapped around his own pale hand. Her touch was electric, raising every hair on his body with delight. He’d forgotten how smooth and soft her porcelain skin was and how her hand fit perfectly in his. She pulled him back a little and he allowed her to, turning back around to meet her gaze. Granger looked up at him under long lashes and leaned forwards while raising her hands to up his face. He knew what she was about to do and, despite every fibre of his being wanting it as much as she apparently did, he knew he couldn’t let it happen. It wouldn’t have been right to kiss her now. It wasn’t fair to Astoria and it wasn’t fair to the boy who had just rescued him from the Fiendfrye. Not to mention the place was overrun with Death Eaters. He took a step back before her hand could reach his face and watched her crestfallen expression as she dropped her hands and gazed at the ground. 

“Not here.” He said, eyes darting around in the darkness, “Besides I don’t think  _ Potter _ would be too pleased about it.” Her head snapped up at that, her mouth hanging open, “Wouldn’t fancy him killing me if, by some miracle, we make it out of this alive.” His tone was cutting and irritated. 

Maybe he didn’t have the right to be jealous. He was with Astoria after all. But it wasn’t so much that she was with someone else -they hadn’t seen each other for a year and he’d half expected she’d have had some fling or other in that time- it was the fact that it was  _ him.  _ Of all people. Harry Bloody Potter. The Boy-Who-Always-Got-His-Way. Images flooded his mind of the pair kissing and limbs entangled with another in between bed sheets. His whole body tensed up and his nostrils flared in anger. The pain, the jealousy, was as fresh as it had ever been and Draco was quickly reminded of just how much he hated that horrible git. He  _ wanted _ to kill him now, wanted to hand him over to the Dark Lord not to protect his family from Voldemort’s wrath but as a kind of divine retribution, a retaliation for Potter having the nerve to lay his grubby hands on her. Because whether Draco was worthy of her anymore or not, Granger was  _ his _ . 

She chewed her lip and fiddled with the sleeve of her jacket,

“It’s over. Harry and I, we’re not together anymore.”

He chuckled darkly and looked away, gripping his wand a little tighter than necessary, 

“Funny. Looks to me like he didn’t get the memo.”

“Draco, I’m sorry.” She breathed with a shake of her head, “I thought I’d never see you again!” 

Her guilt-ridden expression made his heart sink. He knew he had no right to be angry. He’d done the same after all; found comfort in someone else. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the anger threatening to bubble over. Now wasn’t the time. Not to mention she’d been through enough, she didn’t need him losing his temper as well, 

“You don’t have to apologise.” He replied, trying to keep his voice even, “It’s just because it’s  _ him _ , that’s all. I don’t blame you for moving on.”

Her fumbling hands relaxed and the fidgeting stopped, her face awash with relief for a moment. At least until another thought crossed her mind, then her eyes were full of dread. He could tell she was trying to hide it -trying to compose herself. But her eyes always said too much. They always gave her away, 

“Have you?” 

“I tried.” He replied quietly, afraid of hurting her with the truth, 

“Oh. And you...are you still together?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” The fidgeting was back, and her gaze fell to the floor again as she blinked away tears, “That changes things then.” 

“Always the way with us, isn’t it?” He muttered, cursing himself for throwing himself at Astoria as wilfully as he did. If he’d only waited maybe things would have been different, “Always something getting in the way.” 

Granger nodded, 

“Well, I hope you’re happy together.” She said as she lifted her head to meet his gaze and he could tell she meant it. He hated it. It would have hurt less if she was angry at him, but she was too understanding, too loving, too good for him, “Anyway. I wanted to thank you. For helping us back at the Manor. You could have given us away and you didn’t.” 

Draco shook his head at her, his face twisted at the painful memory. His anger returned but for an entirely different reason now, 

“Don’t thank me! I should have done more. I-I just stood there...if..if I’d tried harder-”

“You got us out of there.”

“But Bellatrix...” his voice broke as the tears rolled down his cheeks, “I’m sorry, Granger. For everything. I never meant for this to happen. I never meant for you to get hurt. If I could go back and change it all, I would.”

She gave him a sad smile, 

“I don’t think anything could change the way things are now but...I forgive you, Draco. For everything. I want you to know that. Just in case.” 

There was an explosion behind them, about twelve feet away from them the walls began to crumble and come down. There were footsteps and voices yelling curses. The Death Eaters were here. Which meant he had to leave. He couldn’t be seen here with her if he wanted to live and he needed her away from them if he wanted her to keep her alive too,

“You better go.” He choked out with bitterness, “Before they get here.”

Granger backed up quickly, putting the much needed space between them before the others could catch them. 

“I think you’re brave, Draco.” She whispered, “I know you can do this.” And with that she turned and bolted down the hall away from him and away from the oncoming Death Eaters. She was out of sight before they rounded the corner and found him. As they moved closer, Draco could see the cloaked figures of Rowle, Dolohov, Greyback, Yaxley, Bancroft and Moonwraith

“And where the hell have you been, Malfoy?!” Yaxley snapped, 

“Looking for Potter of course.” 

“Well then, where is he?” The blonde man asked, while the others stood behind him, eyeing Draco with mal-intent, 

“Haven’t found him yet.” 

“You found the girl at least?” Greyback stepped forward now, a hungry gleam to his eyes, “I don’t want you lot ruining my dinner before I’ve had a chance to play with it.”

A chill ran down his spine and he tried to hide the way he shivered at the werewolf’s words,

“Haven’t seen her either.” 

“Haven’t done a lot, have you?” Bancroft said snidely, he positioned himself so he was no more than two inches from Draco’s face. He could smell his foul breath and see each mousy brown whisker of his beard,

“Well chop, chop then, lads.” Yaxley spoke again, “We’ve got work to do.” 

Draco sucked in a shaky breath and hurried along with the others, keeping pace with the monsters beside him. Chillingly, it reminded him of the last time he led them through the castle, when they came through the cabinet with Greyback in tow despite the fact that he was never meant to be there. He remembered following them from the Astronomy Tower where Snape had killed Dumbledore and through the Great Hall to announce their new reign at Hogwarts. The outcome had been horrendous then. 

He hoped this time would be different. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so two chapters todays because it's been a while. 
> 
> I know the first bit of this chapter is a retelling of the events in the book/film from Draco's POV but I wanted to include it to set up the chapter. Also I like getting into his head for these kinds of scenes. 
> 
> Also it was gut-wrenching to write this because of how far they've come in this story when you keep in mind they've been friends since the age of 11, and had feelings for each other since they were 13/14. So it's been a long time of them pining for each other and now they still can't be together. 
> 
> Anyway let me know what you think :) xx


	14. Love and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry realises the truth about the final Horcrux while Hermione makes a new alley. Draco almost loses his nerve during battle and succumbs to the Death Eaters, but finds courage at the last moment.

_ I can't help but love you, even though I try not to _

_ I can't help but want you, I know that I'd die without you _

* * *

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked, when she finally caught up with him.

When he left to find Voldemort and Nagini, she had got caught in the battlefield, fighting trolls, Dementors and Death Eaters. It wasn’t until she escaped to the Great Hall to catch her breath that she found him. He was standing with the Weasleys -Arthur, Molly, Percy, Bill, George and Ginny- as they gathered around Fred’s lifeless body. Hermione had sobbed upon seeing him, even more guilt ridden because Ron wasn’t here. He was off looking for Draco’s father, with the belief that if they could get his parents out of harm's way, the Slytherin boy would fight with them. Harry had held her tight as she cried, trying to fight his own tears as well. Then, after some time had passed, he told her what had happened when he found Voldemort. He recounted how the dark wizard had killed Snape when he’d discovered he had in fact been a double agent the whole time, helping the Order from the inside. In his final moments, Snape had given Harry his memories to take to the pensieve to show him what needed to be done next. When Harry returned from viewing the memories, he was different. Changed. By more than the death and devastation of the war around them alone. 

_ He knows. He’s figured it out.  _

“There’s a reason why I can hear them -the other Horcruxes. I think I’ve known for a while,” he glanced down at the ground below, hanging his head and raising only his eyes to look at her, “and I think you have too.”

Hermione sobbed, tears streaming down her face. It was the only way; she’d known this for a long time. Yet now that it was happening, now that he too had come to the very same realisation, she didn’t want him to go, 

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.” His voice was firm as he spoke, “Kill the snake, and then it’s just him.” 

Hermione hugged him then, holding him tight for the last time as her heart broke. He gripped her twice as hard, both afraid to let go. Her lips came crashing down on his for the final time, but it was fraught between anguished sobs at the thought of losing him. Harry pulled away and his green eyes were full of sadness and grief. 

He turned away from her then and carried on down the steps. Hermione broke down, harsh, heavy sobs wracked her body, shaking her to her very core. Her limbs were weak as she made her way back towards the courtyard where the main battle was taking place. There was as good a place as any to look for the snake. The young witch raced down the steps, blocking curses and stunning nearby Death Eaters as they tried to kill her. When she came to the courtyard there were enemies and allies at every turn. Bolts of blue and green light lit the darkness around her as spells were cast left and right. In the centre of it all was Bellatrix, holding Hermione’s wand as she fired the Killing curse at as many of those around her as she could. To her left, she saw Luna battling a troll with Neville’s help and to her right Lavender lay dead on the ground with Greyback on top of her, blood smeared all over his face as he tore through the poor girl’s chest. Hermione screamed and fired a curse at him, blasting him into the air and away from the girl. 

“Get down!” cried a voice she didn’t know. 

Without warning, she was thrown to the ground when someone jumped on her. Thinking it was another enemy, she was about to wrestle them off her when she found her attacker had already climbed to their feet and was holding out a hand to help her up as well. Hermione didn’t take it, but stood by herself and pointed her wand at the dark-haired girl in front of her. The girl was pretty with pointed, fairy-like features and looked a little younger than herself. Blood trickled down from her hairline where she must have hit her head or been caught by falling debris, her breathing was laboured and her hair was wet with sweat. Hermione realised the girl must have been fighting for some time without pause. 

The girl raised her own wand in return, but her reluctant expression said she didn’t want to have to use it, 

“Please, I’m not the enemy!” her voice sounded a little panicked and Hermione noticed her tattered school uniform. Green and silver with a snake’s crest. This girl was a Slytherin. 

“Sorry.” Hermione replied awkwardly as she lowered her wand, “Habit.” 

There was a blood curdling scream and the two girls turned to find multiple figures on their knees on the ground where Hermione had been just moments before, their hands on their heads as their eyes turned white and their skin turned grey. There was a gold dust around them that glimmered and moved with dreamlike imagery she couldn’t make out. Hermione recognised the figures to be Hannah Abbott, Liam Lynch, Cormac McLaggen, Pansy Parkinson and Vincent Crabbe. They were writhing and scratching at their eyes with enough force to draw blood, the dust around them choking them in between screams of terror. A broken glass sphere sat at their feet as Bellatrix cackled manically. Hermione moved to help her fellow students but the girl behind her pulled her back, 

“Don’t!” she said quickly, “It’s the Witch’s Eye. They’re dying, there’s nothing we can do. You go near it and you’ll end up just like them.” 

Hermione turned to look at her with wide eyes, 

“ _ That’s _ what it does?!”

“It affects anyone in its vicinity. From the looks of it Bellatrix was aiming for you.”

It was then Hermione realised the girl had dived on her to get her out of the way of the blast. 

“Then you risked your life for me. Why? You don’t even know me.” 

“Don’t be daft. Everyone knows you.” the girl dodged a curse then and quickly countered with one of her own, knocking the Death Eater through one of the few walls still standing and creating a large hole in the centre of it, “You’re Hermione Granger; one of the Ministries most wanted. Besides, we're on the same side. You’d do the same for me no doubt.” 

“Right. Of course.” Hermione replied, crouching down behind a pile of rubble to avoid the Killing curse that was coming her way from an unknown enemy. She fired her own curse back in the general direction the attack had come, and then fired another curse at the Arachnoid closing in on them, stunning it in place as its long, hairy legs raised up to cut them down, “And who are you?”

“Astoria Greengrass.” the other girl panted, as she dodged another curse that was fired their way, this time by Alecto Carrow, “Please tell me you have a plan!”

“I’m after the snake. If I can kill her it’ll weaken You-Know-Who...and then we’ll have a chance.” 

Astoria nodded, her brown hair was stuck to her face from blood and sweat, 

“Ok. You do what you need to do, I’ll cover you.” 

“Come with me.” Hermione said, not wanting to leave her behind, “We’ll cover each other.” 

Astoria looked uncertain at first, her eyes darting around her as she checked for enemies coming towards them, then when she knew it was clear she replied with a hasty nod. Hermione gestured that she was going to move from behind the rubble, run under a troll’s legs and up another flight of steps towards a tower. It was the best vantage point for her to look for Nagini and it had the most cover. However, the path to the tower was anything but clear. There were four Dementors to take down, two werewolves and at least a dozen Death Eaters, Yaxley included. 

“Ok,” Hermione said, “I’ll take care of the Dementors, if you can handle the werewolves. Then we’ll take as many of the rest of them as we can.” 

“Are you opposed to the use of dark magic? We’ve learned quite a bit recently. Might as well use it.” 

“Use whatever you can.” Hermione replied, normally she would try to avoid dark magic and advise others to do the same, but they didn’t have the luxury of that now, “On three?” 

“On three.” Astoria agreed,

“One...two...three!” The girls yelled in unison. 

Hermione took the lead and, without the incantation, conjured her Patronus while Astoria followed closely behind, attacking the werewolves with the  _ Sectumsempra _ curse one by one. Hermione’s silver otter Patronus charm kept the Dementors at bay as the two girls cleared their path. The werewolves lay bleeding on the ground while the Death Eaters attacked them, firing the Killing Curse at them relentlessly, forcing them to dodge and find what cover they could so that the spell missed them. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Astoria grab one of the Death Eaters attacking her and use him as a human shield against yet another Killing Curse. Hermione looked at her with her mouth open in disbelief. The girl said nothing but gave her a look as if to ask  _ ‘what else am I supposed to do?’ _ . It was only then Hermione noticed Yaxley and two others coming for Astoria from the front while there were four more at her back. 

“Behind you!” She screamed as she used the levitation spell to lift a pile of rubble and bring it down hard on Yaxley and his men, crushing them and killing them instantly. 

Astoria had taken care of two of the four Death Eaters that came for her. Their bodies were broken and bent in horrible ways on the ground and Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what curse she’d used. With another stunning spell, the Gryffindor took care of the remaining two opponents for her, clearing their way to the tower. The girls ran for it, panting heavy and pushing their tired limbs to the limit. When they made it to the top they were out of breath, with more cuts from falling debris and explosive curse blasts, but otherwise they were unharmed. They were in the clear for now and with a better view of the grounds. Daylight was breaking, turning the sky a bright grey-white and allowing Hermione better light to look for Nagini, 

“That was terrifying.” Astoria said, with her hands on her knees as she tried to regain control of her breathing, “It was amazing what you did with the rubble. Very clever. Wish I’d thought of that.” 

“And you using that Death Eater to take the Killing Curse…” Hermione shook her head and smiled, “I mean it was awful; completely against everything I believe, but...it was brilliant.” 

Astoria laughed, “Well, I’m not a big believer in killing either, but I don’t fancy dying tonight if I can avoid it.” 

The two girls smiled at each other as they leaned over the tower wall, with their shoulders slumped and muscles tight from fighting,

“Found it yet?” The dark haired girl asked. 

“There!” Hermione pointed to the snake as it slithered it’s way to the centre. 

With Nagini’s arrival the battle ceased, the combatants withdrew and the grounds of Hogwarts grew quiet once more.  _ He’s done it. He’s won. We’ve won.  _ All she needed to do was get down to the snake. Hermione raced down the steps they’d just come up and Astoria ran after her, shouting at her to hold up. At first she couldn’t quite make out the figures coming into view. Voldemort was clear as day at the centre with hundreds of Imperised witches and wizards following behind mindlessly, and she saw Hagrid carrying something but she couldn’t quite see what. It was only when she got to the steps by the entrance of the school did she see what had really happened. In Hagrid's arms was Harry’s limp body. Hermione broke down at the sight of him, collapsing to her knees as she screamed and heaved heavy sobs. Her breath caught in her throat, her lungs failing her as she struggled to breath and her vision blurred with tears. _It can't be! Not Harry! Please not Harry!_ Slender fingers wrapped around her trembling form and she realised between quick, shallow intakes of breath that Astoria had pulled her upright and held her, hugging her close and shushing her throughout. The Slytherin girl quickly pulled her further back in the crowd, trying to keep her out of sight of Death Eaters that would surely kill her as they made their way closer to them. It was as she let Astoria drag deeper into the crowd that she found Ron and Draco once more. Ron wrapped his arms around her the  moment he saw her, and she let herself melt into him. Too weak in her anguish to lift herself to stand. 

"He can't be...h-he can't..." she gasped for air and Ron rubbed her back, whispering that it would be alright. 

As they embraced Hermione noticed the exchange between Draco and Astoria; the desperate way they clung to one another, followed by resting their foreheads together as they cried. It was her, she realised. This was the girl Draco was with now. Despite everything, a pang of jealousy hit her, but it was quickly forgotten when Voldemort addressed them all, 

“Harry Potter is dead! From this day forth, you put your faith in me.” He pointed to his chest with his long, grey fingers, his face pulled into a sneer as he spoke. There was a collective gasp from friends, students and professors as the realisation dawned on them that it was over, that they had lost, “Harry Potter is dead!” he repeated and the Death Eaters erupted into laughter, as a large, malicious smile broke out across Voldemort’s face, “Now is the time to declare yourself. Come forward and join us or die.” 

Behind him Bellatrix immediately came forward, not to declare herself as she was already aligned with him, but to get closer to the man she adored in his moment of celebration. From across the battlefield, Hermione’s gaze found Lucius and Narcissa. Mr Malfoy looked terrified and delighted at the same time, with a smug smile on his face, while Narcissa was looking at someone behind the girl -whom Hermione could only assume was Draco- with sadness and disappointment. Despite Voldemort’s command, no-one moved. No-one wanted to step forward and pledge their allegiance to him even with the threat of death hanging over them. Even in her grief, Hermione was proud of them. They would not bow to the man who had killed her best friend -a boy she loved- and the boy who had risked his life for them so many times and who had willingly died tonight for them. They would not fold. They would not allow this monster to break their resolve. Even if the war was already lost, even if they were all to die, this could be their last act of defiance. 

“Draco…” Lucius came from the crowd of Death Eaters as he held out his hand for the boy to join him. 

Hermione was the first to turn around to find the blonde haired Slytherin standing beside Astoria, his hand in hers. He wasn’t looking at her, his icy grey gaze was on his mother, his eyes full of sadness, fear and disgust. His face, covered in dirt and bruises from the battle, was twisted into a grimace. He gulped once as he trembled but said nothing. More importantly, he  _ did _ nothing. He didn’t move at all. Hermione willed him not to go, to be brave, 

“Oh, Draco.” Lucius pressed again, firmer this time.

The boy didn’t move, but looked away from his father. 

“Draco!” Narcissa called this time. 

His grey eyes were back on his parents once more, this time filled with tears. Hermione watched as what little resolve he had disappeared. His mother was his weakness, she realised. He looked around him, taking in the friends he didn’t want to betray, glancing from Ron to Astoria and finally to her. Grey met brown then and she begged him with her eyes alone, pleaded with him not to turn his back on them. Not to turn on her. Not now. He looked down at the ground, blinking away the tears and turned away from her then. Hermione watched him yank his hand away from Astoria to make his way down the steps to the centre of the courtyard. Her heart broke as he went. Her Draco Malfoy was gone. The boy she had spent months practicing charms and joking around with atop of the Astronomy Tower when they were young was gone. Both him and Harry. It was almost too much to bear. Witnessing the color drain from Astoria’s face as he declared himself against them, Hermione put an arm around her shoulder and comforted her the way the girl had Hermione moments before.

They watched as Draco slowly crossed the space between him and Voldemort, his movements stiff and reluctant. The dark wizard embraced him then, with the Elder Wand in his hand and its tip positioned worryingly close to Draco’s neck. Her heart began to race when she thought that he might kill him anyway, that he knew how the boy truly felt, 

“Well done, Draco.” 

Voldemort gave him a tight squeeze while the blonde just stood there with his hands at his sides, almost completely unresponsive. When he let him go, Draco made his way to his mother, both mother and son ignoring Lucius’ attempt to hug them. The older Malfoy man looked crestfallen but quickly turned his head heavenward and smoothed his features into nothing -something Draco himself would often do when he was upset. It was evident that it was his father who had taught him to repress his feelings then. The other Death Eaters eyed Draco with suspicion as he and Narcissa moved further inward to the crown.

It was Neville who limped forward next, with the Sorting Hat in his hand, and Hermione couldn’t believe what she was seeing. This is how it would be now. One after another, pupils and professors, friends and families aligning themselves with Voldemort out of desperation. The young witch fell back a little and gripped Ron’s arm. 

“Ah, well, I must say I’d hoped for better.” Voldemort laughed, but a moment later his expression turned dark as he glared at her classmate, “And who might you be, young man?”

“Neville Longbottom.” 

Bellatrix cackled, throwing her head back and showing too much teeth. Hermione’s nostrils flared with anger as she remembered Neville’s parents were tortured at the hands of the horrible witch,

“Well, Neville, I’m sure we can find a place within our ranks for you.” 

“I’d like to say something.” he replied. 

Voldemort sneered and raised his hand as if to conjure a curse but thought better of it and lowered it again. He paced the space in front of Neville, looking more furious with each movement. Behind him, Draco was looking at Neville in horror and confusion while Narcissa rubbed his back. He glanced at his mother than in disbelief and Hermione knew there had been some kind of silent exchange between the two, 

“Now, Neville, I’m sure we’d all be fascinated to hear what you have to say.”

“It doesn’t matter that Harry’s gone,” he said,

“Stand down, Neville.” Seamus called, realising that he wasn’t declaring himself at all, 

“People die everyday! Friends, family. Yeah, we lost Harry tonight, but he’s still with us, in here,” he pointed to his heart, and Hermione realised he was right, Harry would never truly be gone, he would always be a part of her, “so is Fred and Remus, Tonks. All of them. They didn’t die in vain.” 

It was deadly quiet as Neville spoke, and the sneer on Voldemort’s face fell as the weight of his words hit them and a glimmer of hope returned. From across the battlefield, Draco’s face gave nothing away. Whatever he and his mother knew, she couldn’t tell but his shoulders were more relaxed now. He was more at ease. Beside her, Ron nodded in agreement with Neville and Astoria wiped the tears away from her face with her hand, gripping her wand tightly enough that he knuckles were white,

“But you will! Because you’re wrong!” 

Voldemort was grinning again, baring all his teeth and readying himself to attack the boy, 

“Harry’s heart did beat for us. For all of us. This is not over!” Neville shouted as he pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from the hat he’d been holding. 

In that moment, Harry rolled out of Hagrid’s grip, falling to the ground with a thud and clambering to his feet to get away, 

“Potter!” Draco yelled as he threw Narcissa’s wand at him and bolted back towards the group standing at the entrance to the school, while Narcissa Disapparated away with a horrified and disappointed Lucius in tow. 

Harry caught the wand and fired a curse at Nagini, and though it had no effect on the snake herself, it caused an explosion that took out multiple Death Eaters. He ran then, crouching behind castle walls as Voldemort furiously fired curse after curse at him. Hermione couldn’t help but let out a laugh of joy.  _ He’s alive! Oh, my god, he’s alive and he’s back.  _ One by one, more Death Eaters Disapparated, fearing for their lives now the Boy-Who-Lived had risen from the dead once more. Voldemort screamed at them, demanding them to come back and fight. Hermione was too consumed in the events unfolding in front of her to notice Draco grip her arm and hurriedly lead her and Astoria to where the others were gathering inside the school, fighting back the Death Eater’s approaching them with curses and protective spells. He only let go of the two girls when they were safely behind the castle walls. They each backed up, with wands out and defended themselves against the curses hurtling towards them. Hermione noticed Nagini slither inside and make her way up the steps towards a group of students where she then disappeared. Without thinking she raced up the steps after her, 

“Granger!” Draco called out to her, his voice afraid and irritated -no doubt because she was putting herself in danger again, 

“I have to kill the snake!” She replied, and her eyes flickered to Astoria who was battling Dolohov and Amycus Carrow with Slughorn and McGonagall, while Draco put Rowle in a body-bind with a quick  _ Petrificus Totalus _ . He backed up the steps to her as he fought of others, 

“I’m coming with you.” He said, throwing her a glance over his shoulder.

“No.” Hermione replied, as she fought back enemies of her own, “Help the others down there.” She nodded towards Astoria and Draco looked torn, but before he could argue she pushed through the throng of fighters and chased after Nagini as the snake left a trail of bodies in her wake. Hannah Abbott and Nigel Wolpert were two of her victims. 

She found the snake at the top of an empty staircase that led to the third floor of the castle, it seemed to be retreating, or it wasn’t attacking at least. Which only made her think that maybe Voldemort had given her a special kind of task. Hermione lifted a rock from the pile of rubble and threw at the foul beast with as much force as she could muster. It collided with the snake with a thud and Nagini hissed a threat in reply, inching her way closer to Hermione, her body coiling behind her. Hermione held up the basilisk fang, ready to strike. The snake lunged at her, she brought the fang down hard in one fluid motion but missed and had to dive out of the way to avoid Nagini’s mouth closing around her arm. Hermione screamed and scrambled away, panting as she tried again. The snake was too quick, and easily dodged the attack as it recoiled. It went for her again and Hermione jumped back and lost her footing on steps. She rolled down the steps until she came to a halt at the landing. With a groan, she climbed to her feet. Warm blood trickled from her head and her lip from the fall, and her vision was a little blurred as she watched Nagini come for her again, she raised the basilisk fang weakly as the snake launched at her a third time. There was a blast and the snake was catapulted back through the air to the top of the stairs. Hermione turned and found Draco with his wand raised and his chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to regain his breath. His white blonde hair was a mess and his black suit was ripped and covered in ash and dirt, 

“You alright?” He asked. 

Hermione nodded breathlessly and winced at the throbbing in her head. Draco reached up to examine to gash by her temple, a few inches above her ear, where she could feel there was a small, gaping wound, 

“Fuck.” He breathed, “Come on. We have to get you to the infirmary.” 

“No!” She shook her head and almost fell over, feeling instantly dizzy, “I have to...the snake...basilisk venom...Horcruxes...” her words were coming out jumbled as she tried to think through the pain and through blurred vision she could see him looking at her like she was mad, 

“You’re not going anywhere.” He ground out as he forced her to sit down with her back against the wall, “Better?” He brushed the hair from her eyes as he looked her over, accessing the damage, 

“Yeah.”

“Right. We’ll wait here a bit then. At least until you can walk. I won’t be able to carry you and fight at the same time.” 

Her head was pounding and she felt nauseous from the pain, her limbs were heavy and weak, all she wanted to do was sleep. Hermione let her eyes close, unable to fight the overwhelming fatigue that came over her, 

“Granger!” Draco’s voice was sharp as he shook her shoulders, “Eyes open! Now’s not the time to take a bloody nap.” 

“Astoria…” she sucked in a breath and tried to focus so she could talk, blinking a few times to clear her vision, “she’s really lovely.” 

Draco clenched his jaw, a peculiar look passed over his handsome face, 

“Yeah.” He agreed, wiping the blood from her lip, “I know.” 

“You helped him…” she smiled, “Harry, I mean.” 

“That was the plan. Get my parents out and fight back.” 

Hermione pushed herself up off the wall and stood now, she was still woozy and the pain was still as awful as before, but her vision had cleared and she could think again. Draco held her up for support, his brow furrowed in concern, 

“I’m ok.” She said, taking another deep breath, 

“Think you can make it down?” He asked, meaning make it to the makeshift infirmary in the Great Hall. 

Hermione nodded and, after a brief pause, threw her arms around him. He hugged her back, gripping her tightly and burying his head in her hair as they both let out a sob of relief. They were alive and now the odds were in their favour again,

“Nothing changed, you know.” He whispered and for a minute she couldn’t fathom what he meant, “It was always you. It’ll always be you, Granger.” 

The young witch cried, understanding the meaning behind his words as tears trailed down her cheeks and she sniffled. He’d said it their last night together before the war and this was his way of saying it again now. Three words, unspoken in the moment but felt as deeply as ever. His feelings for her hadn’t changed even if their circumstances were now vastly different. He was with Astoria and yet their hearts would always belong to each other. The love they felt for anyone else along the way just couldn’t compare. 

Hermione pulled away and met his gaze, she cupped his face between tears, 

“Nothing changed.” She choked out. 

His expression was heartbroken as he nodded in agreement, 

“Come on. You need to lie down.” 

She clutched onto him, he had one hand around her waist and the other raised out, his wand in his hand, she raised hers as well, determined to fight as much as she could until they made it to Madame Pomfrey. 

They were together again at last. Even if only for a moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this one. There was so much going on during the battle that I didn't really spend much time on the characters grief. 
> 
> Let me know what you think x


	15. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dust begins to settle after the war and Draco admits the truth to his parents and a half truth to Astoria. But while the battle has been won, the demons refuse to die.

* * *

_ I think I could love you til the day that you die, _

_ If you let me love you when the timing is right  _

* * *

Draco winced as Madame Pomfrey tended to his broken arm and wrapped it in a sling. She’d mended the many fractured bones with magic of course, but charms weren’t a cure-all and he’d need to keep it in a cast for at least a few weeks. 

He dabbed the blood at his nose with a handkerchief and tipped his head back a little to ease the bleeding. Luckily broken noses were a much easier fix. Bancroft had really given him a beating when he got his hands on him. It was after he claimed the other Death Eater’s wand with an  _ Expelliamus _ , that he realised his mistake. He thought that by disarming him he’d gain the advantage but Bancroft, despite all his prejudice, was more than happy to fight the muggle way; with fists and a boot to the face multiple times over. If it wasn’t for Looney Luna Lovegood, he’d probably be dead now. The witch had blasted Bancroft away with a clever spell not long before the blonde Slytherin passed out with a concussion. He reminded himself he ought to thank her when he saw her next. 

As he sat there on the table of the Great Hall, with his feet on the bench, his jacket discarded and his black shirt sleeves rolled up, Draco couldn’t quite believe everything that had happened in one night. The Dark Lord was dead, defeated by Potter himself. He and his parents were alive -although not thoroughly welcome here. Well, most of his fellow students were decent to him in fairness, as he had fought alongside them. It was his mother and father who garnered the glares and disapproving looks. But that was enough to make him feel unwanted as well. Lucius stood beside where Narcissa sat, both looking entirely out of place and like they didn’t quite know what to do with themselves. The three of them must have looked like an awkward family painting. Physically close together but otherwise completely distant. 

Potter had returned his mother’s wand to her and they had shared a short, tense exchange, but other than that no-one had said two words to the Malfoys unless it was absolutely necessary. Like Madame Pomfrey asking them to move so she could get him a vial of Wiggenweld for example. 

Lucius had his hand on Narcissa’s shoulder as she sat beside their son. Her eyes were red with tears at the loss of her sister and dear friend. Bellatrix had been killed by Mrs Weasley, and while Draco hated the sight of his mother grieving, he was happy the awful hag was dead. It was long overdue in his eyes. Snape had also been killed. By Nagini, at Voldemort’s request. The Dark Lord had discovered his secret and, even though he had considered the old Potions professor his most trusted friend, he disposed of him without a second thought. Just the thought sent a chill down his spine. They never found a body. Draco could only presume that after Nagini had poisoned him and left with the Dark Lord, the foul snake had come back to devour him completely. 

Narcissa had broken down upon learning the fate of his godfather from Potter, screaming and declaring it wasn’t true. That the Boy-Who-Lived was lying. Her hair had come loose from its perfectly styled updo and her blue eyes were wild.

In all his seventeen years he’d never seen any similarities between his mother and his aunt, but with the news of Snape’s death she was overcome with emotion and Draco could see the striking resemblance then. It was only after witnessing his and his father’s bewildered expressions, that Narcissa seemed to remember who she was and pulled herself together. Lucius’ scowl had only grown darker since her outburst and he was quietly seething at both the death of his old friend and her reaction to it. 

Draco set down the bloodied handkerchief and took the vial from Madame Pomfrey, 

“What about that?” He asked, with a nod towards his right arm, “Can you get rid of it?”

Lucius’ eyes were alight with anger at the implication, he opened his mouth to speak, but Narcissa stopped him by gently rubbing his arm and shushing him. 

Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips and tutted, 

“Afraid not, dearie. The kind of magic used to make that sort of thing is irreversible. We’ll have to hope it fades overtime now he’s gone.” 

Draco sneered at the Dark Mark, and knocked back the Wiggenweld. Years ago he would have grimaced at the taste of the foul potion. Now he was so accustomed to it the taste didn’t affect him at all. He watched the other occupants of the makeshift infirmary as Madame Pomfrey worked on bandaging his very bruised knuckles. Astoria was helping tend to the injured, bringing them potions and wet rags to clean away blood. Zabini was sitting by himself on the steps of the headmaster’s podium, a little way away from a large group of Slytherins, and looked completely lost. Nott was being tended to by one of the healers who’d arrived from St. Mungos. He had a particularly nasty gash in his thigh from where an explosive curse had hit him. He greeted Draco with a curt nod from across the room and the blonde returned the gesture. They’d grown closer in recent years -though they weren’t quite friends yet either- thanks to their mutually conflicted feelings regarding their own families and the whole blood purity debacle. Further down the way, he saw Longbottom sitting on a bench with Looney, who had rested her head on his shoulder. Chang was with a group of girls and gave Potter a small smile as he walked past. 

Then there was Granger; who lay unconscious on one of the many beds. Madame Pomfrey said the knock to her head wasn’t too serious, thankfully. Though her immobile and pale form disturbed him to no end -reminding him of the time she was Petrified in second year. He had sat with her earlier, only moving when Madame Pomfrey called him away to tend to his own wounds. In that moment he didn’t really care about his injuries. Broken arm or not, busted face or not, he wanted to make sure she was okay. But the patron was having none of it and assured him the young witch would be alright.

Draco watched as McGonaghall covered Parkinson’s body in a white sheet. A wave of grief washed over him. He wished he’d been kinder to the poor girl while she was alive. Beside her were Crabbe, Van Hegna, McClaggen, Abbott and many, many others. There were at least fifty dead and over a hundred wounded. Many of the worst injured were those who had got caught in the rubble, their limbs trapped under piles and piles of brick and other debris. There were multiple amputations performed where the damage was too dire for even _ Skele-Gro  _ to help. 

When Madame Pomfrey left to tend to another patient, Lucius finally spoke,

“Your mother tells me you’ve bound yourself to that foul Granger girl. Is it true?” 

Draco rolled his eyes, not wanting to confirm or deny what they all already knew. 

“Answer me, boy!” 

“Yeah.” He mumbled, wincing as soon as the word left his mouth in anticipation of what was to come. 

“How  _ dare _ you?!” Lucius was in front of him now, his lip curled and his hand tight around his cane, “To disgrace the Malfoy name in such a way! A girl of no status and from a none-wizarding background. A girl with  _ dirty blood _ . And a friend of blasted Harry Potter’s no less!” Lucius prodded Draco’s broken arm with his cain, and the boy let out a yelp, “That’s why you denied knowing them at the Manor! That’s why we  _ ENDURED WHAT WE DID!!” _

Narcissa was on her feet, pulling Lucius away before he could humiliate them further. All eyes were on them now, watching them with horror-filled expressions as Lucius flicked his long blonde hair from his face and composed himself. Draco rubbed his arm where his father had pressed the snake’s head into it and kept his gaze on the ground, 

“You’re an embarrassment, Draco.” His father snarled, “To care for a mudblood.” 

“Lucius, please! Now is not the time.” Narcissa hushed him.

“No,  _ you _ are the embarrassment.” Draco looked his father dead in the eyes, and he found all his fear replaced with anger, “Your beliefs are wrong! There’s no difference between purebloods or muggle-borns. Raising your child to believe there is, is what makes you an embarrassment. Forcing your  _ own son _ -” there were angry tears in his eyes now, “into  _ your _ war is what makes you an embarrassment!” 

“Draco!” Narcissa was furious, “Everything we did, we did for you!” 

“Maybe you did, Mother, but he didn’t.” The boy scoffed, “Everything Father did was for power.” 

It was then he saw Astoria making her way over to them. His mother and father exchanged a look of disappointment, but said nothing. He’d hoped that seeing as the girl was from the Greengrass family and thus a member of their precious Sacred Twenty Eight, his parents would have liked  _ her _ at least. One dinner at the Manor months ago had proved otherwise. Yes, she was a pureblood from a notable family with their own ties to the Dark Lord through distant relatives, but her own opinion of others was much more tolerant. Much more accepting. That alone was enough for them to hate her. 

Only then did Draco realise his own choices would never be good enough for them,

“Is everything alright?” Astoria asked when she arrived,

“Fine.” He grumbled, ignoring his parents, “You’ve been hard at work.” 

Her hair, which she usually wore down, was pulled back into a ponytail, and she was wearing a nurses apron Madame Pomfrey had given her that was now stained with blood,

“My uncle is a Healer.” She shrugged, “I used to watch him work a lot. How are you? That looks painful.” 

Astoria gently examined the cut above his eye, 

“I’ve been better. And you?” 

“I’m alright. I think I’m in rather a bit of a daze to be honest.” She wiped her bloodied hands on a wet cloth and sighed, “There’s just  _ so many _ bodies....”

_ And it’s all your fault.  _ A voice whispered from the dark confines of his mind. Draco gulped and pushed the thought away, blocking it out with Occlumency. He could wallow in his self-loathing later. When he was alone. 

“I..I, er, heard you fairly held your own…” he began dumbly, “You were fighting off werewolves, Crabbe’s father, the Ravenfell twins, even Yaxley.” He blew out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and looked down at the ground, “Not that any of this should have happened in the first bloody place. If it weren’t for me-”

“If it weren’t for you giving Harry Potter a wand we’d probably all be dead right now.” She smiled kindly and cupped his face with one hand. Draco rested his hand on top of hers, melting into her comforting touch and feeling a stab of guilt when his mind drifted to another girl, bedridden across the room, “And anyway it was Hermione who took out Yaxley. Not me.” She finished as if reading his mind. 

The blonde frowned and dropped his hand, glancing around at the other witch from where she lay on the bed. Potter and Weasley were, of course, at her side -watching her like a hawk. Weasley, he didn’t mind so much; after all he’d been decent to him in the last twenty-four hours. 

Potter...well, obviously Potter was only over there to try to worm his way back into her arms. 

_ And other things. Prick. _

“Granger?” He asked in disbelief, “ _ Granger _ killed Yaxley?” 

Astoria nodded and wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up at him under full lashes, 

“You should have seen it. Took out him and his henchmen all by herself. With a levitation spell, of all things! She lifted rocks into the air and crushed them with it. It was quite violent.” 

“No way.” He replied, resolute, his face twisting in confusion, “She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Granger is all ‘free house-elves’ and ‘everyone deserves redemption’ and all that romanticised rubbish from those ridiculous muggle books of hers.” 

The Slytherin witch quirked an eyebrow at him and he knew then he’d said too much,

“I was there.” She insisted, “I fought with her. Never seen anyone deflect so many curses at once. You know she knocked out Greyback as well? Blasted him through a wall like it was nothing.” 

“What an idiot.” His head was reeling from the thought of her taking on such powerful and frightening men, “Can’t go two minutes without running head first into danger, that one.” 

The blonde boy grit his teeth at the thought of what could have happened if she’d made one wrong move. Damned Gryffindor bravery. 

“It’s a wonder she’s alive at all.” Astoria mumbled, voicing his thoughts as she often did, “Bellatrix really had it out for her-”

“Evil bitch.” He muttered and his fists clenched at his side when Granger’s screams echoed in his mind. 

_ Tell me or I’ll run you through with this knife! _

He shuddered at the memory. He still saw her pale, tear-stained face and mutilated arm every time he closed his eyes. Would it haunt him forever? Most likely. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?” The pretty, dark haired witch said as she pulled away from him. 

Draco sighed. He couldn’t well tell her the whole truth, could he? At least, not now. And certainly not here. No. He wouldn’t break her heart after she’d just fought tooth and nail to survive the night. He wouldn’t end things with her now and confess to his childhood love for the girl he’d sworn himself against these last two years. Firstly, Astoria deserved better than that -she was one of the kindest people he’d ever met and he refused to hurt her- and secondly, at his very core he was still a coward. He’d looked death in the eye and faced it as much as he could. He’d disappointed his parents enough for them to potentially disinherit him or worse disown him -if any one of them ever made it out of Azkaban that is. And he’d lost face to Potter too many times to count in the last twenty-four hours. He just didn’t have any more courage left to do what he knew needed to be done. 

Not today anyway. He’d wait. Until he was braver and until he was certain Astoria would be okay. Until their fling had run its course. 

“We’re...kind of, friends. Granger and I.” 

Her mouth dropped open in horror, 

“But she’s a muggle-born!”

The young wizard tensed, preparing for the usual onslaught of pureblood ideals that would surely follow such a revelation, 

“I know that! But-”

“And you’re...or, well, you  _ were _ a Death Eater. How...how on earth does that work?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out that one myself for the last seven years. We had a, uh, tumultuous friendship given the circumstances. Nobody knew about us of course and we fought a lot. Because of...what people would have thought. My parents for one would’ve killed us. And, ahem, well, I-I wasn’t a very good friend, let’s put it that way.”

It was then the Great Hall erupted into cheers and applause and, when he turned to see what all the fuss was about, his eyes finally found  _ her _ . Granger made her way down the hall towards Potter and Weasley, her face a deep pink from all the attention, but otherwise looking much better than she had in the last few hours. Now that she was awake and on her feet, the whole of Hogwarts was eager to praise her for all her hard work in battle, each of them hugging her and clapping her on the back in awe and appreciation. Draco watched while she embraced Potter, her hands around his neck as the crowd cheered and wolf-whistled. The blonde Slytherin rolled his eyes.  _ Well, well. Don’t they look awful cosy?  _ He’d give it a month before the two were plastered across the front page with the announcement that their on-again-off-again romance was very much back  _ on _ . He groaned internally. Merlin, Potter was going to be  _ everywhere _ from now on, wasn’t he? As if the four-eyed tosser wasn’t already talked about enough. 

“You really care for her, don’t you?” 

Had she figured it out already? He sucked in a shaky breath,

“She’s the only true friend I’ve ever had.”

“You should talk to her. Maybe you can make things right. Maybe this is your chance.”

The blonde rolled his head and looked at her in disbelief. ‘Their chance’ had long come and gone. 

“Heh, I think I’m all out of chances. In fact I’d wager the whole bloody Malfoy fortune on it.” 

“Draco…” she sighed, “You didn’t see her face -when the Dark Lord called out to you and we thought you’d given up. Just go and talk to her, will you? Please?” 

The dark-haired girl smiled and he nodded in agreement, overwhelmed now with guilt. She really was too good for him and soon, be it a week or a month or more, he was going to break her heart. He was already planning  _ how _ to end it and here she was encouraging him and comforting him. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and a lump formed in his throat. When would it stop? He wondered. When would he stop hurting people? When would he be able to do the right thing? When would he be the hero? Or merely just ‘good enough’ for that matter. When would he be the man he wanted to be? 

“Now I’ve got to go.” She said, glancing over her shoulder, “It looks like there are others waking up too.”

With that she pressed herself against him and her lips met his. It wasn’t the same. He felt her warmth spread through him from her body against his, got lost for a brief moment in how her tongue gently danced with his, but it was all wrong. He couldn’t relax into the kiss the way he usually would, because he knew Granger was across from them and every flick of his tongue and each caress Astoria’s fingertips made across his nape it felt like a betrayal. Whether real or not, he felt the Gryffindor’s eyes on him, watching him intently and his skin crawled at the thought of what she must think of him right now. He pulled away slowly so as not to show his discomfort and rubbed Astoria’s arms in what he hoped was an affectionate gesture,

“I love you, you know.”

Draco gulped. They’d exchanged these words a handful of times before. Usually drunk on firewhiskey and delirious from the afterglow of frantic lovemaking, but he’d never been able to bring himself to say the words sober and he knew that this was a test. 

“You’re going to regret that one day when I’m rotting in a cell in Azkaban.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her expression never changed but he noticed the twinkle in her big, blue eyes dim a little. He saw the disappointment there. Recognised it like an old friend. Even if the trace of a smile never felt her lips, 

“Okay. I get it. You’re not ready all that right now. Fair enough.”

His heart sank. He was always  _ -always- _ hurting people. 

“I’m sorry. I just...I’ve a lot on my mind, that’s all.” 

“I know. Anyway, I’ll find you later.”

He watched her walk away until her figure disappeared into a crowd of people as she worked through more of the injured. Then, with another sigh, he turned his attention back to Granger. His eyes followed the bushy-haired girl as she fetched potions for Madame Pomfrey and brought people cups of tea. Already she was helping even though she was only just back on her feet herself. Potter was on his feet now too, at the girl’s beck and call. Following her around like a lost pup. Merlin forbid he left her alone for a minute!

After a little while, Granger looked up and her eyes met his. He quickly dropped his gaze to his feet, aware she probably knew he’d been watching her. Draco decidedly looked everywhere but her, trying to look aloof and unfazed. Not captivated by her to the point of obsession. He must have looked like a right idiot. What with his eyes always trailing her around the room, as if they had a mind of their own. It happened all the time. From the moment they met on the Hogwarts Express to now. How he ever managed to make anyone think he hated her all these years was laughable. Astonishing really. He was certain his feelings for her must have been painfully obvious. Snape had clocked it. Zabini and Parkinson too, before he Obliviated them both. There were others too over the years who figured it out but it was only a handful. It only furthered his belief that most of the people in this ridiculous school were absolute imbeciles,

“Oh, it’s that horrible girl.” Lucius muttered behind him, 

“Hush, my love.” Narcissa replied with an edge to her voice, “We must not speak of it here.” 

Draco risked a peek at his parents, who tensed when Granger appeared in front of them. Her head was wrapped in a thin white bandage and her lip had been easily healed with magic. Her clothes were in tatters and covered in blood,

“The war might be lost, Miss Granger,” Lucius couldn’t keep the malice out of his voice, “but that does not mean we care for  _ your _ company.” 

Draco threw him a glare, but before he had time to retort, Granger replied, 

“The war was  _ won _ .” She corrected, “And you might like to know Harry has told me the Ministry wants us-“ she glanced back at Potter and Weasley, “-present for your trial. To attest to your character presumably. In fact, I would imagine the only thing keeping you from a lifetime in Azkaban is whatever we choose to tell them.” 

Lucius blanched at the threat. 

“We helped you!” His mother hissed, furious. 

Granger’s brown orbs were alight with anger when she turned to Narcissa, 

“And  _ we _ helped  _ you _ . I don’t mind doing it again during the trial if you could refrain from being rude!” 

“Granger…” Draco groaned. 

As much as he agreed with her, he didn’t want her to go irking them only to have them lash out at her. Least of all his father, who was already irate and clutching his cane tighter than before, his hands trembling, 

“You foul, imputent little m-”

_ “Father! _ ” The blonde boy snapped, slamming his fist onto the table. 

Lucius blinked at him, taken aback by the way he raised his voice at the older Malfoy, which Draco had never done before, 

“Funny.” Granger’s voice was cold and hard like glass, “Using that word at a time like this; you must be either very brave...” Lucius’ lip twitched remembering his words to Potter at Flourish and Blotts all those years ago, “Or very foolish.” 

With one last dirty look, his mother and father turned on their heel and walked away, muttering horrible things under their breath. Draco turned to the girl in front of him and shook his head. Her breath was coming quick and she was glaring at his parents’ fading figures. If looks could kill, his dear mother and father would be very much dead at her hands. 

“What happened to you?” She asked, raking her eyes over his battered features, “You look like you lost a fight with the Whomping Willow.” 

He snorted, “Oh yeah, that’s precisely how it went down. While all these idiots were out there fighting You-Know-Who, I was off facing the real enemy; that damned, ugly tree.” 

He heard her chuckle a little beside him but he wasn’t really paying attention. He’d noticed Potter watching the pair carefully from his place further down the hall. Longbottom was talking to him and making chopping movements with his imaginary sword -obviously depicting how he’d defeated Nagini- but the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice was barely listening. Draco raised his brows at him as if to demand  _ ‘what’,  _ and was pleased when he turned away, irritated.  _ Jealous git.  _ All they were doing was having a conversation, there was no need for Potter to go and have a tantrum over it. 

“How’s that big, bushy head of yours anyway?” Draco asked. 

Granger climbed up onto the table beside him, her feet placed on bench below, just like his were, and her hands resting in her lap, 

“Horrible. Imagine the worst headache of your life.” 

“Worse than the one I get talking to you?”

With that, she gently nudged his good arm with her elbow, to which he let out a whimper, 

“Ahh, you’ve killed me!” 

The girl rolled her eyes at him, a barely visible smile playing on her lips. Draco was suddenly aware that now most of the occupants of the Great Hall were watching them, the raucous chatter quickly became a quiet lull of hushed voices. Seamus Finnigan and Justin Finch-Fletchly were glowering at him, their eyes narrowed and mouths pressed into hard lines, the Bell girl looked horrified to see the pair sitting together. He quickly glanced passed her -not wanting to remember how their last encounter had played out- and his eyes fell instead on Zabini, who looked almost offended, but not all that surprised. Then there were the professors; Slughorn with one brow quirked in confusion, Trewlawney with her eyes bulging -as if they could get any blooming wider in those ridiculous glasses- and finally McGonaghall, whose face was pale. As if she’d seen a ghost. And whose heels  _ clicked  _ and  _ clacked  _ as she bustled over to them. 

Draco groaned, “Shit. Here comes the Inquisition.” 

“Miss Granger,” the professor said, her voice an octave too high as she looked from him to Granger and back again, “are you quite alright? If Mr Malfoy here is bothering you-”

He felt his lips curl in annoyance, but before he could speak, the young witch beat him to it, 

“No. He’s not. We’re just talking.”

“Yes, well, although we all know the Malfoys deferred at the  _ absolute last _ moment and you have, dare I say, a remarkable penchant for forgiveness, I do not think it’s wise to wrap yourself in a spider's web and wait to be devoured.”

__ “It’s not like that.” Draco murmured and McGonaghall’s stern eyes snapped to him then. His mouth went dry under her hard gaze. 

Dammit. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. 

“As a matter of fact we happen to be friends.” Granger said defiantly, her jaw set and chest puffed up as if preparing herself for a different kind of battle. It reminded him of how she looked the night of the Yule Ball when he went off on one about Krum. 

McGonaghall gasped. Her eyes went wide and she blinked a few times to process what she’d just heard. Then she looked down at them over her narrow spectacles, 

“Friends?!” She repeated aghast and, her hand over her chest, “ _ Friends’ _ , you say?! My dear, I think that head injury of yours is more serious than we first thought.”

Draco coughed to cover up the little laugh that escaped him. Beside him, Granger grimaced and sucked in a breath, no doubt ready to recount to that old crone everything that had happened between them in their entire seven years at Hogwarts -and there was _ a lot _ to get through. Before she could even form the words to explain their unusual companionship, McGonagall cut in, and thank Merlin too, they’d be here all night otherwise. 

“And you! You might laugh now, but mark my words, Mr Malfoy, if you do  _ anything _ to hurt this poor girl after everything she’s been through. If there is even a hair out of place on her head, I will personally see to it that you are once again a frightful, feckless, fumbling ferret. Which, as it happens, will look delightful around my neck when I attend the victory ball to celebrate Voldemort’s long overdue end.” She lifted her wand then and Draco flinched a little. The old witch examined his hair with her wand, inspecting a blood-matted blonde curl with a look of repugnance, “Yes, well, once we clean you up I do believe your coat will match my gown.” 

Had she really just announced she would transfigure him into an animal and  _ skin him alive  _ if he stepped out of line? 

“Professor!” Granger gasped. 

McGonagall didn’t reply, but merely shook her head and walked away. Draco watched as she met with Madame Pince and Professor Hooch, and the trio exchanged concerned looks as they whispered among themselves.

“And so it begins.” He grumbled,

“They’ll get used to it.”

“Don’t hold your breath on that.” 

“How’s Astoria?” Granger asked in a small voice, all the while absentmindedly rubbing her left arm. 

_ That _ arm. If he could go back now he’d have never left her alone with them. He’d have done something  _ -anything- _ else. He’d have done whatever the hell he needed to. Anything to get her away from them. He’d have fired the Killing Curse at his blasted aunt if he had to. 

“Draco?” 

He tore his gaze away from her arm and met her eyes,

“Um...yeah, she’s...uh...okay, I guess.” He replied and ran a hand down his face as he felt the beginning of fatigue settling into his bones. Now that the battle was won and they were safe the adrenaline had long worn off and he realised he hadn’t slept in almost two full days, “Enlighten me; what happened with you and Potter? Wasn’t off kissing Weasley this time, was he?” 

The young witch kept her expression neutral but her eyes got dark and her lips pulled into a little pout, making them look fuller and more pronounced. His eyes lingered on her lips a moment, remembering how soft they felt against his the last time they kissed, then went back to her face before she could catch him, 

“No! Of course not. We had a row, that’s all.”

“What was it about?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, 

“Why does that matter?”

Draco shrugged, “I like to keep tabs on Potter’s failings. There is, unfortunately for me, a lack of them -or that’s what most people think anyway. I imagine he’s not perfect as everyone makes out.” 

“God, you’re unbelievable.” She glared, “I’m not telling you just so you can rub it in his face.” 

“Easy, Granger. I’m just pulling your leg. Besides I know which side my quill is dipped.”

“Hmph.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes; Granger picking the dirt and blood from the bed of her fingernails and Draco with his head cupped in one hand, ruminating on all the things he’d do differently now with hindsight. Maybe then the number of dead would be fewer. Or would it be more? Had he refused the Dark Mark, would he and his parents be among the corpses? Or would the Malfoy name have remained somewhat intact? Would it even make a difference? 

“What’ll happen now?” He asked after too much quiet. 

She sighed, “I don’t know. I’m hoping I can come back and do my N.E.W.Ts. That’s if I’m allowed back at all. I have a feeling I’ll be grounded for the rest of my life though.”

He quirked an eyebrow,

“Where  _ are _ your parents? I mean...they weren’t...you know…” He trailed off, his chest tight, “Were they?”

Granger shook her head, matted curls hitting her cheeks,

“No. No! Thank god. They’re fine. They’re in Perth.” She grimaced and began bouncing her leg nervously, “I Obliviated them before we went on the run.” Her shoulders slumped, “They have no idea about what’s been going on. They wouldn’t even know who I am if they were here now.” 

“You hid them.” He murmured, more to himself than to her, “Of course you did. Hermione Granger; always ahead of the game.” 

“How am I going to explain this to them?” She gestured around the room wildly and Draco couldn’t help but feel a stab of regret. He started this.  _ He _ let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.  _ He _ gave them power.  _ He _ put her and her parents in danger, “Where would I even begin?! They’re going to be furious.” 

“They’ll come around. Just maybe leave out  _ how _ involved you were; fighting that fucking snake on your own. Complete nutter.”

“You’re one to talk! Least  _ I  _ don't have a broken arm and a busted face.  _ You _ look terrible.” 

“Unfortunately we can’t all go through hell and wake up looking like we’ve just been on the cover of Witch Weekly.” He muttered and was pleased to see a blush creep into her cheeks, then he added as an afterthought, “Professor Hooch does look ravishing, don’t you think?” 

This time she shoved him away from her with a little laugh,

“You are a total cad, Draco Malfoy.” 

“That so? Guess I’ll just keep this for myself then.” 

He pulled her wand out of his pocket and held it up in front of her, just out of reach. Her mouth fell open at the sight of her missing ten-and-three-quarter inch vine wood and dragon heartstring. He flipped it in his hand once, feeling the weight of it -trying to understand it- before he handed it back to her. Granger ran her fingers along the vine engraving on it and let out a breath,

“I thought with all the fighting it would be lost. Or broken at least.” 

“Least I could do.” He replied, thinking back to how he had dodged Rowle’s curses and raced to retrieve her wand before it could be damaged in the fight, leaving himself open to attack. It was foolish. Any one of those curses could’ve killed him. But it was also important he got it back for her, “After everything.” 

“You’re telling me you dropped whatever you were doing just to get my wand?” 

Draco didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. They both already knew why he’d done it. After all of the years of taunting her, calling her a mudblood, hurting her with his words and after the events of the last year he had built up a debt to her that could never be repaid. He would be making up for it for the rest of his life. He would be apologising for the rest of his miserable life, 

“Thank you.” She said softly and threw her arms around him. 

He took the moment to breathe her in. To inhale her scent, to run his fingers through her hair and listen to her heart beating against his chest. Finally, she was back in his arms. After all this time. She sniffed a little and her body shook against his and he knew she was crying. 

“And here I was trying to cheer you up.”

Granger clutched him tighter for a moment then pulled away and wiped her eyes, 

“God, sorry. I-I just...all of this...being alive...both of us...it’s a little-”

“I know. But,” he reached up to wipe a tear away, “please stop crying, yeah?”

_ “Draco… _ ”

The voice came from his left and he pulled away from her in a hurry, expecting to find Bellatrix standing beside him. But there was nothing there. Yet her voice was clear as day. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He told himself that she was dead. That this wasn’t real. He’d seen her turn to ash in front of him. There was no coming back from that. This was nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him. Yet he felt the familiar cold sweat and increased heart rate make their appearance while Granger was talking to him. He wasn’t listening. He could only hear his Aunt and the venom in her words,

“Did you see my handiwork, dear Draco?” Bellatrix asked with faux innocence, “I fancy myself quite the accomplished artist.” 

“Draco, what is it?” Granger’s hand was on his shoulder now and he could hear his own ragged breathing as he gasped frantically for air.

“What ever will we tell the Dark Lord?” His Aunt cackled.

_ It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.  _

__ “Oh my god,” Granger’s hand was on his forehead now, “are you alright?! What’s wrong?!”

“I’m fine.” He mumbled just as another childlike voice spoke, 

“Where’s my mummy?” 

Draco ran his hands through his hair and kept his eyes on the ground. He tried to focus on everything around him that was real; the chatter of the Great Hall, the sound of hurried footsteps against the cobblestone, the smell in the air, the people in front of him. Usually this helped, but today it only amplified the illusions. All the talk was of war, the dying, the injured, all he could smell was blood, all he could see was bodies. All he could feel was  _ fear.  _

__ “Come, Draco. Join us now or die.”

He didn’t need to look up to find the owner of the third voice. He already knew. With his gaze on the ground, he could see the black robes and grey, bony feet of the Dark Lord poking out from under them. Draco now found he couldn’t breathe. His lungs refused to work. He was trembling quite violently as he always did during these episodes. He couldn’t look up. Dead or not, real or illusion, he couldn’t face Voldemort. 

“Draco!” Granger positioned herself in front of him, her hands on his knees. 

The cackling continued, more pronounced now the young witch was touching him, but the voices of Timothy Knightley and the Dark Lord faded away. It left only his Aunt’s laughter ringing in his ears. His eyes found Granger when he felt brave enough and her face was full of worry, her eyes showing too much white.

“What was that?” She whispered, her voice a pitch too high, “What happened?! You look terrified.” 

He glanced around quickly, eyes darting around the room as he checked for more voices and apparitions. There were none. Only the faint cackle -which was gradually fading to a murmur, lost in the background amongst the conversations had by the other occupants. Granger’s eyes were on his arm now and the hideous black snake-and-skull marking that would never leave him, 

“I can't make it go away.” He muttered, talking about the mark, the voices, the memories. All of it. 

“You need a healer!”

_Tell_ _me or I’ll run you through with this knife!_

_ Please! I don’t know anything! Please! Stop!! _

__ Her screams rippled through him. Her heavy sobs. Her blood seeping into the centuries old carpet. 

Draco was on his feet in an instant, pushing Granger’s hands away as she reached for him. He had to leave. He needed to get away from her. To get away from that memory. From that night.

“I need to go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this written for ages but wasn't happy with it, and I've rewritten it about 20 times this last week already. I've checked for errors but it's likely I may have missed a few in my re-writes so let me know if you see them and I can fix it. Thank you.


	16. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After revealing the truth to her parents and attending countless trials, Hermione is struggling to cope in a post-war world. Now at Draco's trial, Hermione, Harry, Ron and the others wait to learn of the Slytherin's fact.

* * *

_When I finish picking up all of the pieces,_

_That's when I'll give up on you,_

_When I finish drowning in my own tears,_

_That's when I'll move on from you_

* * *

_ July _

  
  


Five figures gathered outside the Ministry courtroom; all with heavy lidded eyes glazed with exhaustion. 

The first rapped his foot impatiently while another slouched in his seat, humming an out of tune Fur Elise and tapping imaginary keys on his knee. The third was lost with his head buried in a book titled  _ Lesser Known Magick: The Defensive and Arcane  _ which the blonde Slytherin had given to him -by way of an apology presumably. Every now and then he would jolt upwards, mouth agape and point to a piece of written knowledge long thought to be forgotten, ‘exclaiming, _ ‘this is brilliant, this is!’  _ before turning back to the frail, yellowed pages once more, all consumed by the magic behind every stroke and blot of ink. The fourth gazed dreamily at the black tiled ceiling as if watching elegant ballerinas pirouette before her eyes. Whatever she was entranced in, the others couldn’t tell as there was  _ unequivocally nothing there  _ save for a few glimmers of light _ , _ but Luna certainly seemed bewitched by whatever it was. 

The fifth and final figure sat bolt upright, tensed and gnawing at her thumbnail furiously as if all of the answers lay just beneath the half-moon lunula. In the cold, empty, lifeless waiting room, her flesh was hot and slick with sweat. The air was thick and heavy against her, pressing down on her like a dead weight. One, two, three, four...The witch had already counted to ten and tried getting out for some air and a cup of water. Nothing worked. Brown eyes watched the candlelight flicker against the dark tiles, creating patterns of golden light that were beautiful and eerie all at once. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind flashed back to the last time she was here; Death Eater politicians and their henchmen had chased them down these long corridors. Yaxley had grabbed hold of Ron. And two years before that Lucius Malfoy himself had cornered her on the floor below them, in the Department of Mysteries. She traced the place on her cheek the scar would have been -had it not been for Madame Pomfrey’s healing potion. His curse had missed her by more inches and the blast had sent the Prophecies shattering around them. The sting of glass as it sliced open her skin was as fresh in her mind as ever. She didn’t remember much of what happened that night, just the sound of spheres breaking and a head of white hair chasing her, just the smell of smoke and how tired her limbs had become. 

Fingers dug into the engravings on the armrest of the wood-and-leather bench on which they sat. There were already two empty vials clinking together quietly in her bag and a third, unopened, in her pocket. How long had she been taking two a day? She couldn’t recall. Was it before the night at the Manor or after? When Ron left? Before that even? All she knew now was that two was too little. It kept the grief away but only for a few hours. With time, she felt it creep back, bleeding through the edges of her soul the way spilt ink seeps onto parchment; slowly, bit by bit, until eventually there’s nothing left but darkness. 

As the hands of her gold watch ticked on -growing louder and louder until the sound began to echo against the cold walls and floor, drowning out all other noise- Hermione couldn’t help but think she might crack if the Wizengamot didn’t reveal their verdict soon. 

Images of the Malfoy heir thin and frail, rotting away in the stone cell of Azkaban prison flashed in her mind, Dementors sucking out his soul until all that was left was a husk of the boy she’d come to love. His sharp mind dulled to nothing, his bright eyes dead and unrecognisable, his arrogant smirk wiped from his perfect featur- 

“Are...are you ok, Hermione?” 

“Hm?” Her head snapped up and she found it was Neville who had spoken -his book now closed and resting on his lap. 

Her four companions were watching her like she was a wounded animal. Harry stilled his feet, Ron stopped humming and Luna had her lips pursed in thought, 

“Well, no, I don’t think she is, Neville. She has Fugglewuffs pinching and nipping her. They’ve gotten inside her head too, and her chest. They’re making quite a mess of things, aren’t they?”

“Um…” Hermione started,

“What’s a Figglewhiff?” Ron looked to Harry. The other boy shrugged and shook his head in confusion, 

“Fugglewuffs. They’re like pixies. But they’re invisible and they feed off negative emotion. If you’re really upset they can get inside your head and start pulling things apart in there. In your heart too. They pick up your worst memories and replay them over and over. Or make you feel lonely and sad.” Luna explained with a sympathetic smile, “Dad had them a lot when Mum died, and now he has them again after the war.” 

“Right.” Ron nodded, his eye twitching a little as he tried to make sense of the nonsense that had just escaped the otherworldly blonde. 

“Here.” Luna crossed the distance between them and handed Hermione a small, velvet pouch that was heavier than it looked. Upon closer inspection she saw there were a collection of pastel coloured gems inside, “Crystals. To keep them away. I like to tuck a few into the tops of my socks, see-” she rolled the hem of her trousers up to reveal an odd collection secured in place at the top of her sparkly silver sock, “-they work better if they’re against your skin.” 

“Okay...” Hermione was baffled, “Uh, won’t they, um, fall out though?”

“Well, you use magic to keep them there, of course.” 

“If you’re using magic to keep them in place,” Ron said, “why put them  _ there _ ? Why not somewhere else? Somewhere more practical?” 

“Nargles don’t like feet.” Luna shrugged as if it was entirely obvious, then she cocked her head, “They won’t try to steal them this way. But it’s up to you where you keep them.”

Hermione, Harry and Ron all exchanged bewildered glances while Neville watched on in adoration. His cheeks grew flushed when he caught Hermione watching him and he cleared his throat nervously before focusing back on his book. 

“Thanks.” She said to Luna with a dead smile, as she tucked the stones into her blazer pocket and smoothed down her skirt.

Luna turned back to the boys and engaged them in conversation about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. How had it been four years already? Hermione went back to chewing her lip and fidgeting apprehensively. It was only when she looked around the gloomy Ministry corridor that she noticed Harry had yet to take part in their conversation and remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout. When she touched his arm gently, his green eyes found hers, 

“I thought you’d be looking forward to all that.” 

The boy sighed, “Sorry. It's a bit hard to be excited about bloody quidditch after the last year.” 

“God, I know. Actually it’s a bit hard for me to be excited about it anytime.” 

Harry chuckled and for a moment the war never happened; she was back in Hogwarts, laughing with him and Ron over dinner in the Great Hall. For a moment they were normal. Then reality came back to hit her full force like a blow to the ribs, knocking the wind right of her. 

“Anyway...I don’t think I’ve properly gotten a chance to thank you.” 

Harry shook his head, 

“Honestly, Hermione, there’s really no need. We promised you we’d help him, didn’t we?”

“Oh, no, I don’t mean that. But for that too, actually. I meant with my parents. Coming to Perth. I don’t think I’d have had the courage to tell them everything if I’d hadn’t been for you and Ron.”

“You didn’t tell them everything though, did you?” 

Instinctively her hand fell onto her marked arm, covered by a fancy blouse and long sleeved blazer fit for court.

“I wanted to tell them the truth, Harry. Really I did. I hate lying to them. But...I don’t want them to look at me like...like, well, you know.” 

_ How everyone else looks at me. _

The Boy-Who-Lived nodded once, his lips pressed into a tight line as he pondered this. 

“And they haven’t noticed anything different? They will eventually.” 

The young witch lowered her gaze, not wanting to witness his expression when she told him what she’d been up to in the weeks following the infamous battle. Afraid he might think her foolish. 

“McGonaghall and Slughorn have been helping me. They’ve loaned me books for spells and ingredients for potions.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and studied Harry’s perplexed expression, waiting for him to catch on but she’d be waiting a long time from the looks of it and thus she continued, “The dagger was cursed. Any injury inflicted with it allows dark magic to entwine itself in the wound. I have a theory-”

“That if you can undo the curse you’ll be able to heal it.” Harry said, his eyes widening, “That’s brilliant!”

Hermione let out half-hearted chuckle, 

“It’s just an idea. For now at least.” 

“It’s better than nothing. And if anyone can do it you can.” He smiled and rested a hand on her shoulder, “They don’t call you the ‘brightest witch of your age’ for nothing, you know.” 

Her face broke into a smile -the first real one in weeks since she restored her parents memories and since the trials began- and Harry returned it. 

“How’ve they been?” He asked, meeting her brown eyes, “Your parents.”

The witch chewed her lip hard, almost painfully, as her knuckles paled with the force of how tightly she clenched her fists in her lap, 

“Not good.” Her throat hoarse and her eyes blurred at the edges with the tears she was fighting to hold back, “They’re rowing a lot. Which they’ve never really done before.”

“Oh.”

“Mum thinks the Wizarding world is dangerous and that I shouldn’t ever come back. She wants me in London with them. You know she asked for my wand? My  _ wand _ , Harry. She wanted to get rid of it. Told me to forget about all this ‘magic nonsense’.”

“B-but that’s ridiculous! You can’t forget about it. It’s a part of you!”

Hermione sucked in a breath, as if summoning the strength to go on,

“I know, and Dad knows that too. He thinks she’s being unreasonable and that I can’t just leave a whole part of my life -a part of myself- behind. But, of course, she just thinks  _ he _ doesn’t care enough. That he’s being naive.” 

“And have they asked you how you feel? What you think?” 

She gave him a look that said  _ ‘of course not _ ’ and Harry leaned back and sighed, 

“They’ll come around, ‘Mione. They love you and, well, it’s a lot for them to take in.” 

“Oi!” Ron called over to them, “Have you heard this, Harry? Krum and Nikolaj are set to go head to head in the World Cup!” 

His blue eyes were alight with something close to excitement and Hermione couldn’t help but smile at her auburn-haired friend, who had been a ghost of himself since losing poor Fred and Lavender. He was quieter than he’d ever been, his expressions hollow and he’d hardly left the Burrow in recent weeks -no matter how hard they tried to coax him out with drinks at the Leaky Cauldron. It was good to see his eyes light up again, to know he hadn’t died along with the others that might. 

“That’s great, Ron.” Harry said tentatively and a little dismissively, much to Hermione’s dismay, “I can’t wait!” 

Ron pulled a face, his expression quickly becoming sullen, 

“Yeah, you’re bloody thrilled by the looks of it.” He mumbled sarcastically and turned back to Luna and Neville. 

“Do you think he’s annoyed?” Harry asked, 

“Even you aren’t that oblivious.”

“He is, isn’t he? Bugger. I don’t know how to talk to him anymore. I always upset him. Anyway as I was saying, your parents, they’ll figure it out.” 

“You haven’t seen them. You don’t know what it’s like.” 

“Is it bad?”

“Awful. Dad walked out last weekend.”

Harry’s mouth fell open, his eyes widened in horror,

“He came back the next day,” she said in a rush, “he’d stayed at my Uncle Bertie’s, but he’s never done that before. He’d never dream of it usually. Mum was devastated.”

It wasn’t until she fell something cold and wet on her wrists that she realised she was crying. The floodgates opened without warning and before she knew it she was heaving heavy sobs. Tears streamed down her face freely and her nose was running. Ron, Luna and Neville stopped talking suddenly and turned their attention to her now. Wiping a mixture of tears and snot on her sleeve, she cursed herself for breaking down in front of everyone. 

“I’m so sorry, Hermione.” Harry said and threw his arms around her, “If you need anything  _ -anything _ at all- I’ll be here, okay? Just say the word.” 

In between painful cries that left her gasping for air, she didn’t hear the door to the courtroom open nor the tapping of footsteps against the marbled floor. It wasn't until Harry pulled away from her and nodded towards something behind her that she realised the verdict had been made. With her heart clenched tight in her chest and a lump in her throat, she turned to find Kingsley, Prosecutor Grimsby, Defender Fellgate and Draco all standing there, their expressions unreadable. Kingsley looked relieved and troubled in equal measure, Grimsby looked arrogant and dejected, Fellgate looked exhausted and like he needed a stiff drink and Draco...well, he looked broken. 

Hermione felt the blonde Slyrherin’s eyes on her, but ignored him and eyed only the Minister, waiting with bated breath for his announcement. 

“My apologies for keeping you waiting,” Kingley started, then glanced at Draco with a grimace, “there was a lot to go over in the pensieve. In light of what we saw, the Wizengamot have agreed that Mr Malfoy was not a willing participant in the war. We agree that, while he did commit various crimes and committed a litany of terrible deeds, he was coerced and under constant threat. We’ve also seen clearly he was actively working against Lord Voldemort in the shadows. For this reason, we’ve chosen to pardon him. Though there are some rules we’ve set for him, of course.” 

“Oh my god!” Hermione gasped and had to wipe her nose again as she broke into happy tears this time. She rose from her seat and half-ran towards Kingsley where she embraced him tightly before he had a chance to protest, “Thank you! Thank you!  _ Thank you!!” _

The Minister let out an awkward laugh and rubbed her back,

“You’re most welcome, Miss Granger. Now if you don’t mind…”

“Ah, sorry.” She blushed and backed away from him, her eyes flickering to Draco’s. 

For a moment she could see every thought and emotion play across his face. Relief, guilt, anger, hurt, happiness, pain, bewilderment. It was all there. Everything. Hermione wondered how he was able to stand there so rigid when he must have been feeling so much all at once. Yet the moment he noticed her studying him, he smoothed his features until there was nothing left. The young witch sighed. He was shutting her out again. 

“Now,” Kingley said to the blonde boy, “the Greengrass’ will be here shortly to escort you home. They’re currently testifying for your mother, Narcissa, but they won’t be kept much longer. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Take care Mr Malfoy.” 

The Minister and his two officials said their goodbyes -Grimsby was as rude to her in his parting as he’d been during the trial- and they left through the same doors they’d just entered, leaving them alone in the waiting room. 

Draco stuffed his hands into the trouser pockets of his new suit. Hermione could tell it was new from the colour alone. In all the years she’d known him he’d sparsely worn more than black suits and perhap the odd grey jumper on trips to Hogsmeade. Never a true colour, save for flash of it on his school robes. But this was a deep green suit with a black shirt. It was a tactical move. Play up to his house colours. Remind the Wizengamot that he’d been little more than a boy when he was recruited and that, at heart, he was just another Slytherin student. His usual black garb would have been much too similar to the robes worn by fellow Death Eaters as well. It looked good on him, she decided. 

Even his complexion was more ashen and sickly than she’d last seen him. Even if the dark circles under his eyes were worse -like two purple bruises reminiscent of the time she broke his nose.

“Congratulations, Malfoy.” Harry’s voice came from behind her. 

Draco chewed the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed and distrustful before he gave one curt nod, 

“Thank you, Potter.” He half-sneered his reply, “For everything.”

“What will you do now then?” The Boy-Who-Lived asked, before Hermione could even join the conversation. 

The blonde avoided meeting either of their gazes, fixating on the ornate gold structure that bordered the lift back to muggle London, 

“Well, Father wants to cut me off and get rid of me, as you can probably guess, while Mother is furious but doesn’t really want me to leave the Manor. Though it’s not up to her-”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked with concern leaking into her tone, as she took a step towards them, her arms crossed over her chest, 

“Everything is in Father’s name. All of her money, her assets. It all went to him when they married. He makes the rules. If he wants me gone, I’m gone.” 

“That’s utterly archaic! What right does he have to take everything away from you? Not to mention Narcissa?” 

The Slytherin shrugged, 

“It’s how it works in our world.” 

Our world _. _

A world she would never be a part of. A world repulsed by her very existence. A world that had tried to drive her kind to extinction. A world a particular pretty brunette witch had been born into. Hermione blew out an angry breath,

“Yes, well, as we’ve established this last year there’s a lot wrong with  _ your world. _ ”

“Merlin, Granger, not now! I’ve already been on trial once today.” 

“In fact it’s precisely what caused this whole blooming mess. You’d think maybe the whole lot of you pureblood arseholes would learn a thing or two!” 

“Hermione, I really don’t think he meant it like that.” Harry interjected, but the two ignored him. 

“Oh, please!” Draco snapped, “Don’t be an idiot! You’re cleverer than that. You think everything is going to change overnight?! That all our customs and traditions are just going to go away because the Dark Lord is gone?!”

“I think that  _ no man _ , and certainly not that vile, evil toe-rag you call a father, should be allowed to own all of a woman’s wealth. The Blacks fortune ought to be Narcissa’s and then yours by default.” 

Draco rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples, 

“Things are different in our world.” He said, taking deep, deliberate breaths to keep his temper in check. 

There it was again. Those two words -ringing in her ears over and over and over. Memories flooded back to her in a way they hadn’t in a long time. Not since she, Harry and Ron had been hiding in the Forest of Dean for the better part of last year. Not since the locket which hung around her neck had dragged up every old visage of a life she thought she’d never get back. 

The first memory she recalled was the day they met on the train. Pansy Parkinson had made a rude comment about her not knowing her magical lineage and Draco had replied with something along the lines of they  _ ‘wouldn’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort’. _ Then there was the day in the hall on their way to their first Herbology class of their first year. It had only been their second week at Hogwarts when he said,  _ ‘certain families could never truly be a part of the Wizarding world’.  _ She’d had no clue what he’d been getting at back then, of course, but she quickly realised what he meant by it later that day when he told her to stay away from him. Before they, quite ironically, became friends that is. Then there was that time on the Quidditch pitch, when he’d called her a ‘mudblood’ for the first time after they’d fallen out. 

Her skin crawled and a heavy wave of rejection washed over her as she remembered all of their worst encounters together. _ Worthless, worthless, worthless.  _ Her mind whispered. Witch or not, clever or not, war-hero or not, she was never quite good enough, was she? Never quite making the mark. Hermione ground her teeth, growing increasingly irate now. 

“How  _ exactly _ are things different?!” She snapped, “In case you haven’t noticed we’re all-”

“Well, for one,” Draco hissed nastily, “pureblood witches don’t tend to chew your ear off over every damn little thing!” 

Her mouth open in horror. Her scar prickled and she had to ball her hands into fists to stop herself from scratching it. Hermione wanted to hit him or hex him then. Between the worry of what would happen to him today, and the pain she felt at watching her parents’ marriage crumble thanks to her actions, between the nightmares and the traumas of the war and how utterly unmoored and lost she felt. For him to even  _ hint _ that he preferred pureblood women because they held their tongue...it was all too much. 

More tears came, but this time she refused to let them fall in front of him. 

“That...that came out wrong.” He started, “I-I…” 

With one last glare at the blonde ex-Death Eater, she excused herself to the ladies lavatory. Her hand clutched the vial in her bag the entire time. When the cubicle door closed behind her, she latched it quickly and pulled out the tiny bottle, hastily uncorking it with trembling hands. 

_ ‘You need to get off that stuff, Hermione.’  _

A familiar voice would say were he here. 

“Shut up, Ronald.” She muttered in reply and downed the Peace Draught in one. 

A peaceful calm enveloped her the moment the bitter liquid dripped from her tongue and down her throat. Her muscles eased, her mind cleared and she felt nothingness. No hurt, no anger, no grief. Just calm. Only calm. It was exactly what she needed; this beautiful quiet inside her head. The storm of emotions that thrashed and raged within her, threatening to break through at any moment, became now a gentle lull of half-felt feelings, blunted by her beloved potion. 

_ You’re fine.  _ Hermione told herself.  _ Ron doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You’re completely in control of this. You’ve been through hell these last few years and, when you’re ready, you’ll just stop. There’s nothing to worry about. You’ll just stop.  _

With another deep breath, she opened the cubicle door, smiling at an old Wizengamot witch as she made her way towards the mirror. To say she looked worse for wear would have been an understatement; even tied in a bun, her hair was wild from how frantically she’d been pulling at it earlier and her eyes were sunken and rimmed red and her skin blotched pink. Truly, she looked ghastly. Her lips were pale and her veins appeared a touch darker than usual. Although it’s likely they only  _ looked _ dark because of how peaky she was of late. A month of little to no sleep would do that to a person. Recovering from a war, losing friends and mentors, witnessing her parents turmoil, it wasn’t easy. It was ugly business and it was clearly taking its toll on her. Taking out her wand, she performed a quick glamour charm and fixed her hair as best she could, then left to return to the others. 

“Well, what’s wrong with them?” 

She heard Draco ask Harry rather harshly, 

“I don’t know the details exactly. But it’s bad. I can tell she’s worried-” Harry stopped mid-sentence when Draco shook his head, eyes darting from the Boy-Who-Lived to her. 

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, 

“Uh...nothing.” Harry replied, “Never mind. Anyway I’ll leave you two alone. I know you wanted to talk.” 

The dark haired boy awkwardly backed away and crossed the distance towards Ron, Luna and Neville over the other side of the room, where they were completely out of earshot from the pair. Though it wasn’t hard to imagine they’d be watching them and trying to hear what they could. 

“Glamour spell.” Draco noted, raking his eyes over her, “What’s wrong with you anyway? Before that little charm of yours, anyone would have thought you were on your deathbed.” His voice hoarse and thick with concern. 

Hermione gasped and looked away from him. He’d always been much too perceptive. 

“Charming! You really have a way with words, Draco! No doubt Astoria can’t get enough of your ‘compliments’.” 

His hand gripped hers tightly and he pulled her away from the hall into a quiet alcove, out of earshot of everyone else. The space was small and dimly lit, casting his face partially in shadows and making him look older than his eighteen years. Or maybe being held in Azkaban and put on trial had done that. Whatever the case their bodies were inches apart and she could feel the heat radiating off of him as he caressed her knuckles in a way he hadn’t in a long time. His grey eyes searched her face and Hermione held her breath, afraid if she even moved a muscle she’d close the distance between them and crash her lips to his. She still remembered how he tasted from the last time; bitter, like the coffee he always drank, fresh, like his spearmint toothpaste with a warm sweetness from the truffles his mother always sent him. A dark part of her didn’t care that he was with someone else. Never mind it was a girl she owed her life to. At that moment, it didn’t matter to her, she just wanted to hold him, kiss him, touch him. To be with him. The war was over. The world had changed...and yet nothing had changed for them. _Always the way with us, isn’t it?_ She thought back to Draco’s words during the battle. He was right. There always _was_ something keeping them apart. 

Maybe they weren’t meant to be after all. 

“Tell me now, Granger,” he said, quiet and deadly serious, “have you been cursed?”

“What? No! Why...why would you even think that?” 

His eyes were frightened as he reached up to touch her face, reminding her of that night at the Manor. A chill ran down her spine at the memory. Bellatrix’s gleeful smile flashed in her eyes and her breath caught in her throat, 

“Astoria...never mind. You just...you look...” he trailed off, grappling for the right word without offending her. 

“Nightmares.” The witch finally replied after a long pause but made no attempt to elaborate. 

Draco nodded and she knew he understood without any further explanation. He wiped a hand over his slack face, 

“I didn’t mean it.” The Slytherin hung his head, blonde hair hiding his eyes from view, “What I said before about pureblood witches.” 

“Didn’t you? You’re always so good at pretending with everyone; it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not anymore.” 

At this, he frowned. The muscle in his jaw flexed. 

“I’m not pretending anything; I  _ didn’t _ mean it.”

“Hmm, okay. Anyway it doesn’t matter. I wanted to ask you; was it true? What Harry told them during his testimony? You knew.” 

He gulped, 

“I didn’t know  _ everything _ . Just...just that he was planning to release some monster. Before term I heard Nott’s father mention something about Hagrid’s bloody spider-friend being able to sense it. Then I overheard Father mention only a Parselmouth could control it. So I looked everywhere, in every book, for what this creature could be. I found it that day in Flourish and Blotts while you were all besotted with that Lockheart tosser.” He rolled his eyes at that last part. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me. You three thought I was the ‘heir of Slytherin’, remember?” 

The young witch scoffed,

“Harry and Ron did.  _ I  _ thought they were giving you too much credit.” 

“Well, thanks.” He drawled, sarcastically,

“You waited an awfully long time to give me that bit of parchment.” She challenged, “Then that day in the hall, when we found Mrs Norris, anyone would have considered that a threat-”

“I was trying to warn you! What is this?! Another interrogation?!”

“And then Harry told me what you said to him in the Slytherin dungeons.” 

“What?” His face twisted with confusion, “I never told Potter anything in the dungeons. How would he even get down there? He didn’t have the password.” 

“When they Polyjuiced as Crabbe and Goyle.” 

“You lot were  _ spying _ on me?!”

“No. Not me. Well, yes, I thought of it -and don’t act so innocent, you were such a prat that year, you brought it on yourself. But I wasn’t there. I had an accident with the potion so I couldn’t go. Harry and Ron went alone. He told me what you said. I suppose you didn’t mean  _ that _ either.” 

His chest was rising and falling now and Hermione could tell he was struggling to breathe properly. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes sad and his expression pleading, 

“It was an act, Granger.  _ Please _ , believe me. I was terrified for you! But Crabbe a-and Goyle - they’d picked up on how much I talked about you in first year. How I was  _ always _ bloody looking at you. Merlin, I was so pathetic. They were asking questions...I-I had to make a point of how much I hated you.” There were tears in his own eyes now and he shut them tight and took a deep breath. When he opened them again the tears were gone and she could tell he’d used Occlumency to clear his mind, “Look, I’ve given up expecting you to forgive me for everything. We’re passed that. I-I’ve done too much, I know that. But...but think about it; why would I give you that parchment...why would I help you figure it out if I really wanted you dead?” 

The young witch pursed her lips in thought, brows knit together. He was right. Deep down she felt the tug of something telling her he was genuine; she nodded once and Draco relaxed instantly. 

“You can stay with us at Grimmauld Place, you know.” The words had left her mouth before she’d even processed the thought. 

Draco quirked an eyebrow at her. His lips twitched a little, like he was holding back a laugh or a bemused smirk at the very least,

“It’s just Harry and me mostly. We wouldn’t be there all the time. Just every now and then. He’s usually away at the Burrow with Ron and I’m usually in London with my parents. But I mean, it’s the Black’s family home and it’s just as much yours as it is Harry’s. The money thing I’m sure we can figure out.” She let out a playful chuckle and Draco’s smirk turned into a sneer, “We managed a year with only a few galleons so I’m certain you’ll be able to get by.” 

“Oh, yes, what a wonderful idea; playing house with you and Potter! Honestly I don’t think I’d ever be  _ that _ desperate.” 

“Well, where else are you going to go?!” 

A guilty look passed over his handsome features. He licked his lips nervously before he said;

“The Greengrass’ have agreed to take me in.” 

_ Of course, they have.  _

The vision of Draco and Astoria laughing over a long, grand dining table with her rich parents at either end filled her mind. They’d all sit and bask in how powerful and affluent they were and how  _ pure _ their blood was. The petite brunette would remain quiet throughout, nodding and smiling magnificently and only raising her voice to answer a question or two, or to compliment Draco that is. There would be poor house elves running about tirelessly after them as they drank overpriced champagne and talked about all kinds of dark magic and-

“Granger?” Draco snapped his fingers in front of her face. A gesture she loathed and often scolded him for in the past, but she refrained from doing that today. He’d been through enough and she was too numb to care about his poor manners, “Are you alright?” 

“Fine.” She gave him an empty smile.

“You’re lying.” He muttered, twisting the ring on his finger back and forth, back and forth. He hitched his breath and flinched at something to his right, then dropped his hands when he realised they were trembling violently, “Listen, Granger, I-”

“You’re seeing them, aren’t you?” 

His eyes got dark as he scowled down at her, 

“Leave it.” 

“You can talk to me about it if you want.” 

“What? You want me to just waltz in and tell you all the terrible things my mind likes to conjure up to taunt me? You were in  _ fucking tears _ when I came in and whatever is going on with you -you’re clearly not well. Why in Salazar’s name would I want to burden you with all of that?”

“Because we’re friends,” she said simply, “and you’re obviously hurting. I want to help.” 

He let out a breath, then looked heavenward as if the words he needed to explain his thoughts would just fall out of the sky. It felt like forever before his grey eyes met hers again, but when they did they were cold and hard and heartbreaking, 

“Why is it the people I’ve treated the worst are always the ones wanting to help?” Draco clicked his tongue wand shook his head, “I...just…I  _ can’t _ , Granger. I know you, Potter and Weasley all love talking about your feelings and whatnot, but I can’t talk about this. Not now and certainly not to you.” 

Hermione was about to protest when a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts, 

“Draco?” 

The blonde straightened his tie and dutifully stepped out of the alcove without another glance towards the bushy-haired witch. Hermione watched from the shadows as he embraced Astoria and, after a few minutes passed, Hermione eased out of the alcove too with the intention of brushing past them and going back to her friends. 

“Hermione!” Astoria called out and gripped her arm -long fingernails catching on the scabbed  _ M _ and  _ D- _ before she could leave. 

Hermione winced without meaning to and the Slytherin witch dropped her hand instantly, her face awash with horror and confusion, 

“Oh, um, are you alright?” Her blue eyes were honest and apologetic and Hermione knew she had no idea about what had happened at the Manor. Astoria wrung her hands uncomfortably, “I didn’t mean to hurt you or frighten you. I know everyone is on edge after...after everything.”

The Gryffindor girl blinked, trying to rid herself of the memory of the knife opening her flesh, the  _ Crucio _ grinding her bones, and Bellatrix’s maniacal laugh throughout it all.  _ Repulsive muggle filth! I’ll put you back in the dirty hole you crawled out of. But first I need to remind you of your place.  _

“It’s fine.” She mumbled, clutching her arm and avoiding Draco’s gaze, “It’s just a war wound. Anyway, you didn’t know. How are you?” 

Astoria chewed her lip, looking from Draco to Hermione and back again, 

“I’m okay. I mean I wasn’t in the thick of it like you two, but I did lose some friends.” Draco wrapped an arm around her and she let her gaze fall to the floor. Hermione wondered if she was crying. Tears were quickly becoming as commonplace as wands in their post-war world. When Astoria looked up again her eyes were full of emotion, “What about you and the others? I heard you lost people too.” 

Hermione was glad she’d taken the Peace Draught when she did because Merlin knows she wouldn’t have got through any of this without it,

“We did. A lot actually. Ron’s brother and girlfriend. My favourite Professor, Remus Lupin. You might remember him. He was an Order member and he was like another father to me really.” Her eyes were bone dry, her voice cold and her chest hollow. Empty. Draco watched her curiously. Like he was waiting for her to break down, but she never did, “But for the most part, we’re here and we’re... _ coping _ ?” 

“I’m sorry about your friends, but I’m glad you’re managing. Um, I wanted to thank you. For what you did for Draco, Theo, Blaise...Not many people in your position would have come to their defence like that.” 

“Well, Draco was forced to become a Death Eater. And Nott and Zabini...they didn’t even take part in the war. It was the right thing to do.” 

Astoria pursed her lips and unwrapped herself from Draco’s embrace to rest a hand tentatively on Hermione’s shoulder as if they were old friends. It was oddly comforting, 

“Right,” the Slytherin witch nodded, “but have they ever done the right thing for you?” 

Hermione’s eyes flickered to Draco and she opened her mouth to defend him when Astoria cut her off,

“I’m not talking about him. I know you two have a history.”  _ A ‘history’, well, that’s one word for it.  _ “I mean the other two. You can’t tell me Theodore or Blaise have ever been decent to you. No, I know they haven’t. I witnessed enough of it in the past. Anyway, I’m going to make certain that changes. I’ve warned them already; if they as much as give you even a dirty look, I’ll hex their family jewels to pieces.” 

It took Hermione a minute to realise that ‘family jewels’ meant more than fancy pureblood heirlooms. Draco chuckled, his eyes meeting with her own brown ones for a brief moment, before he looked away. 

The bushy-haired witch let out an awkward laugh as well, 

“Honestly as long as it’s only dirty looks and not curses, I don’t really care at this point.”

“Hmph! You risked your life for this, Granger.” Draco’s face was full of contempt but it wasn’t directed at her. Not really. He was just angry in general, “For common decency, for  _ respect.  _ They owe it to you. The whole lot of us ‘pureblood arseholes’ do as a matter of fact.”

Hermione felt her lips tug upwards into a kind of half-smile and she saw something flicker across his features, but it was gone before she could dicheper it. A longing ache filled her -like water filling her lungs- as she drank in the picture of the two Slytherins. They were perfect together. Beautiful and aristocratic with their wry smiles and finely pressed robes. Even the way they held themselves gave off an air of nobility. 

They belonged together, while she would always be an outsider. 

_ Worthless. Worthless. Worthless.  _

“I better go.” 

With that the young witch turned to leave, but Astoria’s voice stopped her a second time, 

“Uh, Hermione, wait! I was thinking...and I know this might be really odd and I completely understand if you say no, but, well, you’re Draco’s friend and you helped me in that battle and, um, I was wondering...if maybe you’d like to join us for dinner one evening?”

Her breath caught in her throat and her mouth fell open as she choked on a reply, 

“I...I, but...um…” 

Draco whispered something to the brunette but Hermione was too far away to hear. Whatever it was Astoria gave him a hard look that made him immediately back down, 

“I’m a muggle-born.” Hermione finally managed rather dumbly. 

Astoria’s eyes were kind. Beside her Draco looked pained, his handsome face twisted in a grimace, 

“That doesn’t matter to us.” The other witch replied, “Have a think about it anyway.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I am so sorry! This chapter was in my head for a long time but took ages to write and get out well. A lot of the scenes I actually swapped about; convos Hermione has with Harry she originally had with Draco in my head and all of that. 
> 
> Anyways, now that this one is out of the way it should be a lot easier to write the next chapters as this one was really tricky. I'm going to do my best over the next few weeks to get more chapters up and regular updates. 
> 
> Let me know what you think,


End file.
